Teenage Dreams
by BelleDean
Summary: A smile, two bottles of wine, sweet kisses and great sex are all it took to make idealistic Edward believe he's met the girl of his  dreams. When all his ideals and ambitions are crushed, is she still the girl for him? E & B
1. Chapter 1

**So this will be my second story. I'll try to keep it short & sweet with this one. Probably around ten chapters and not all of them will be as long as this one. I'll try to update around every two weeks once I finish WOL and any outtakes I promised through the FGB auction.**

**As always, I owe many thanks to KCerena & Reamhar – my awesome Betas. Lola-pops may also have had a hand in this one and Kisvakondok told me that the story doesn't suck after pre-reading it.**

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**I. Skaterboy**

_Summer 2005, BPOV _

I can feel my shirt clinging to me as I march up the dark, dingy stairs of the subway exit on my way home from work. It's July in NYC. The city is a dirty, humid mess and it's only gonna get worse. It feels like the heat and grime of the city are permeating everything, and after what has already been a shitty day, they're only making me crankier.

I take the last step and shuffle in my flip-flops along Smith Street toward home. When I first took the job as a production assistant, I had no idea how demeaning and stupid the gig with "The Quick Gourmet" at a local TV network would be. I assist a TV Chef who thinks the greatest culinary invention _ever_ is Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, which she liberally adds to at least half of her dishes. My inner food nerd cringes every time I see her cook. To top it off, she's a raging bitch. To say that I hate my job would be an understatement. I used to love anything to do with epicurean delights, but now I see a stove and all I want to do is turn around and run.

Nobody tells you in college that you're wasting your time reading Shakespeare and taking calculus classes because all you'll end up doing after graduation is making coffee and other debasing tasks your boss doesn't want to waste his time on; in my case, those include cleaning dirty pans, shopping for ingredients that end up in the trashcan, and stroking the ego of a woman with zero talent. None of the stuff I do actually requires you to have any kind of education, or a brain for that matter. Judging from my experience so far, whatever you're learning during those four years only comes in handy when tyring to make intelligent cocktail conversation.

As I walk, the only things I can think about are a shower and the bottle of wine that is sitting in the fridge. I pray none of my roommates are around so I can have the apartment to myself.

Living with three other people in a tiny, cramped apartment doesn't allow for much alone time or privacy. You can hear everything – and I mean _everything – _in our apartment. And as my luck will have it, as I look up the stairs of the brownstone I live in I see two of my roommates, Tanya and Kate, hanging out on our stoop, a pitcher of margaritas sitting between them. I love them both, but I desperately need some alone time to shake off this day.

"What up, girl!" Kate shouts as I approach. She eyes my sweaty frame and frowns. "You look like could use this." She hands me a glass that I'm certain consists of 90% tequila, 5% Triple Sec and 5% limejuice. I'm too lazy to even walk up the steps, and so I sit down next to them and take a sip.

The two of them are sprawled out, all long legs, blond hair and big sunglasses.

"Fuck, Tanya, how much tequila did you put in this?" I ask, shuddering as the alcohol burns its way down my throat.

"Like a bottle. Whatever. Shitty day?"

"Yeah, what else is new," I sigh.

"I hate to break to you, Bella, but most people hate their jobs. We," she says, gesturing between her and Tanya, "just don't take it that seriously. What you need is some distraction!" Kate's wink informs me about what kind of distraction she has in mind.

"Yeah, you need to relax and get laid, Bella," Tanya chuckles. "How long has it been? Like three months since your romp with the cameraman?"

Jake. Not only was he a fucking asshole, but also I'm not certain he knew what a clitoris was, and if he did, he sure as shit didn't know where to locate it.

"Really, I need to focus on getting another job, not another idiot to waste my time with," I argue, but part of me thinks that maybe they're right. A distraction is easier to come by than a new career. "So if that's the solution, why the hell are you two sitting on the front steps getting wasted?"

"We're on a reconnaissance mission," Kate enlightens me, lowering her sunglasses, watching a guy walking by us. "Tanya discovered that we have total eye candy living right in our hood. They'll roll by here at some point. Just wait."

"Who rolls by?" I ask, confused.

"Girl, just wait," Tanya assures me, refilling my drink. We talk shit for a while, fantasizing about central air and hot boys.

"There they are," Kate whispers. I follow her gaze as a group of guys comes around the corner. They're skaters, but most of them are walking with their boards. They're undoubtedly cute, with lean muscles, slouchy jeans and tight t-shirts bearing logos I've never seen before. We watch them, and I think they all kind of look the same until the last one rounds the corner on his board, ollying up onto the sidewalk and walking up to his friends.

_Damn._

He's tall and pale, with nice hair. His face is so pretty that I almost think he'd be a damn good-looking girl as well. They do that man thing where they shake hands and half hug, and he ducks into the store on the corner while they wait for him.

Our heads turn in unison to follow him as he enters the store.

"Who are these guys?" I ask, still staring in the direction of the store.

"I know, right? Seriously, we need to be sitting out here, like, all day long," Tanya says, fanning herself.

They seem to notice us soon after, and Tanya and Kate engage in inane conversation, acting like they don't see them, though the whole show is for their benefit. I'm still waiting to see the one who walked into the store, though.

I watch him exit the store carrying his skateboard under his arm and a brown paper bag in his hand. I notice that although he's skinny, he's nicely built with broad shoulders and narrow hips. I think I may have found my distraction.

He talks to the rest of them for a minute, gestures down the street, and drops his board before stepping onto it and moving toward us. I take a big sip of my drink, watching him over the rim of my glass.

As he passes our house all three of us eye him. I see the faint stubble growing on his face and his piercing green eyes. Skaterboy must have noticed us watching him and stares right back at us, his lips revealing gleaming white teeth as he gives us a sexy side smirk. He's obviously a cocky motherfucker.

"I call first dibs, I discovered him," Tanya quips the minute he's out of hearing distance, pushing her strawberry blond locks out of her face.

"Oh hell no! I was standing right next to you," Kate contradicts.

"Whatever," Tanya says, dismissing her. She has a gleam in her eye. "I think I've seen him working at that bar around the corner. We should go down there tomorrow night."

"I'll come along," Kate adds with a smile.

"Suit yourself," Tanya responds, smiling right back at her.

I'm rather entertained by their bickering over a dude. I admit he's hot and all, but possibly not worth the effort. From personal experience I know that looks don't always translate into chemistry in bed. I decide not to get involved. I sink back onto the stairs resigned, letting the booze numb me and waiting for the sun to go down.

~000~

The weeks pass without a Skaterboy sighting. Tanya and Kate still mention him occasionally at first, but a couple of weeks later they've all but forgotten about him and decide to take Eric, a spoiled brat who works as a junior analyst at Goldman, up on his offer to go with him to Fire Island. I briefly consider coming along just to escape the city, but then I remember the party where I got stuck listening to him drone on and on about his job all night long while trying to finagle his way into my panties, first by attempting to casually prop his arm around my shoulder and eventually by trying to push his tongue down my throat.

No need for a repeat on that, so I decide to stay in the city, although the temperature is supposed to reach 90 over the weekend.

By 10 AM on Saturday I'm sweating profusely in our apartment, even though I cranked our little air conditioner up to the max last night. Our neighbor downstairs has that retarded '_Just a Lil' Bit_' song by 50 Cent on replay the entire morning at max volume. I'm about to go insane when Jasper, my other roommate and BFF since Kindergarten, suggests that we take a dip in the local public pool. I don't care for the pool, but it's so hot that I relent and agree to come along.

Ten minutes later, I stand dressed in bikini, cut-off jeans, and wife beater, leaning on my bike in front of the house waiting for Jasper to come down. For a dude, he takes forever to get dressed and get his ass in gear. He blames his snail's pace on living with three girls and threatens to move out every so often when one of us accidentally uses his razor. What can I say? Dear Jasper practically begged to live with us when we first moved into this apartment after graduation last year. His insistence to move in with us still baffles me. He had a much better job offer in San Francisco and even his job here pays enough for him to rent a nice apartment in Manhattan by himself. I guess the boy likes slumming it.

I don't see Skaterboy until he's practically on top of me. He doesn't seem to be bothered by the heat as he rolls by without any effort.

"Hi," he says quietly, his eyes moving down my frame. I'm about to respond with some choice words when Jasper bursts out of the building, yelling, "Ready?"

I jump, and Skaterboy chuckles as he rolls away. My eyes follow him of their own accord.

"I've been standing here for ten fucking minutes, Jas," I snap.

He raises his eyebrows, looking after the guy on the skateboard. I just roll my eyes.

The pool is packed to capacity with kids and the local hipsters who couldn't swing a weekend share in the Hamptons. Jas and I drop our towels on the concrete floor next to the deeper side of the pool and go for a swim.

"So what've you been up to lately? I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks," Jas asks, though I'm pretty certain I've seen him pretty frequently.

"Don't ask. I work, I eat, I sleep and I go to work again. Trust me, my life is boring as hell. Nothin' you wanna know about." I give him the short answer.

"Wanna go hang out tonight? Kick back some beers, listen to local bands and check out a burlesque show … sound good to you?" he asks me, laughing.

"Yeah, sure. I'll check out the boob show with you," I answer. I really could care less about going out and watching crappy bands and girls swing around nipple tassels, but the apartment is too hot to stay there all night.

We crawl out of the water eventually. My fingers are already pruney and I decide to sunbathe for a while. I pull _The New Yorker_ out, put on a pair of sunglasses and start reading one of those twenty page long articles. Jas heads back into the water again a few minutes later.

I feel water being splashed at me from the direction of the pool and without looking up, I flip Jas off. I hear a chuckle.

"Asshole," I mutter, ignoring him.

At the next splash I slap the magazine down, "Fuck off, Ja…"

It takes a second for me to recognize the green eyes peering back at me from behind dark lashes.

"Hey," Skaterboy says with a smirk.

"Hi," I respond as he pulls himself out of the pool and sits down with his feet still dangling in the water. I see the water glistening over his pale skin and I lick my lips. He looks delectable.

"So … what are you reading?" he asks, nodding at my magazine. I pick it up and show him, not trusting my voice, as I stare at his defined abs.

"Smart and funny," he comments and I shrug, grinning despite myself.

"Are you trying to flirt with me, Skaterboy?" I blurt out.

"Skaterboy?" He laughs. I blush, annoyed I said that stupid nickname out loud. I remember that I'm an adult, with a good job, an education, a savings account and a preposterous amount of credit card debt. I try to redirect the conversation.

"So, you work at the bar around the corner from our place?"

"Not really. It's my dad's bar and sometimes I help out." He shrugs, not offering any more information.

I'm about to ask him his name, when Jasper strolls up, dripping water.

"Jeez, Bells. I'm so easily replaced," he jokes, looking between Skaterboy and I, before grabbing his towel.

"Right, Jas, as if anyone could ever replace you," I joke, smiling sweetly at him.

"So what's your name?" I finally ask, looking at Skaterboy. I can't keep calling him that– Skaterboy. It reminds be of this bad song by Avril Lavigne. _Ick_.

"Edward," he answers, reaching back to shake my hand, his long fingers wet and a little rough against mine.

"Bella," I reply, "and this is Jasper." They nod briefly.

"So Edward, any interest in coming with us to Southpaw tonight?" Jasper asks, casually plopping himself down on the towel next to me.

"The place on 5th?" Edward asks, frowning.

"Yep," Jas responds, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe I'll see you there." He smiles at me before slipping back into the pool. "I'll see you around, Bella." He swims across the pool to the other side, gets out and walks in the direction of the showers and dressing rooms. I hardly breathe while I watch him.

"What was all that about?" I demand, turning to glare at Jasper, who's baking next to me, his blond locks hanging almost down to his shoulders.

"I was just trying to help a girl out. Don't be so touchy, woman," he says, lying back on his towel.

"Really, Jas, what makes you think I need your help in the boy department? It's not like your doing that well with the ladies these days or you wouldn't plan on hanging out with me on a Saturday night," I state, matter of fact.

"I've got prospects! Remember Alice Cullen?" He smiles a self-assured smile.

"I told you I wouldn't remember a girl's name until they made it to date two. So…no."

"Bitch. She went to elementary school with us and moved away because her parents got divorced. You two were, like, best friends in third grade." I look at him as he cocks an eyebrow up, challenging me. My brain starts scanning through fuzzy childhood memories. Jasper is the one constant person in my collection of friends.

"I can't _believe_ you don't remember her," he says, shaking his head.

"Oh, _Alice_," I nod, placing her. "Tiny girl with dark hair? When did you see her? How did you recognize her?"

"She walked up to me at a party and said 'Hey, I know you. You're Jasper Whitlock.' She's pretty funny," he muses, thinking. "Anyway, she got really hot, so we're gonna hang out."

"So why aren't you taking her out tonight?"

"I might," he answers slyly. "She's in PR or something, and has to work tonight at some event. But she promised me if the party ended early enough, she'd swing by. She's moved in with her dad for now until she finds her own place. It's just around the corner from us."

"How convenient," I joke.

Jasper falls asleep and I finish reading my article, before we pedal back home on our bikes. I'm kind of curious about meeting Alice, but if she hooks up with Jasper, I'll likely only see her for a short period and keeping in touch with any of Jasper's ex's usually turns out being too awkward. They always end up asking me about him, fishing for information, anything really that might give them a reason why he dumped them unceremoniously after some great roll around the sheets.

Jasper and I hang out at our apartment and knock back beers before heading out. I know the bouncer at the club and we avoid the line that's formed in front of the place. I can't quite figure out what the attraction is with this place. It's dark, grimy, and old and mostly serves as a concert venue. I search around the place, scanning the masses of people crowding around the bar, and then the still empty area in front of the stage looking for Edward. I don't see him, and I hope my disappointment doesn't show. I scream at the bartender for a vodka cranberry and nurse it for an hour while some bad garage band starts playing. When he isn't there an hour later, Jasper and I decide to get filthy wasted. I've switched to vodka soda, the burlesque show has started and we cheer on a chubby girl who shamelessly swings her boobs around in circles on stage.

We're about to call it a night when some chick suddenly pounces out of nowhere onto Jasper. She's dressed in a skirt and killer heels and has short black hair. Her whole get-up screams overdressed for the occasion. When she finally lets go of Jasper, she looks at me, and it dawns on me who this is. Since it's almost closing time and I'm seeing double, that's quite a feat.

"Alice?" I scream over the music. She hugs me, before she responds.

"Bella? I can't believe I found you!"

We catch up on each others' lives as the club empties out and determine she lives literally a block away from us, and I struggle to keep up while she spouts off information. She sure talks a lot.

"Living with my dad is really cool, but my brother is pretty fucking annoying. He's all emo and hanging around the house all the time."

"Well, if you ever just need an escape from parental supervision or the little brother, totally swing by our place," I slur, patting her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'd love to take you up on that offer. Maybe even tonight," she smirks at Jas. They start making out at the bar and I decide it's time to go home.

I soon regret extending such a generous invitation to Alice. I counted: they had sex at least five times that night and as a result I barely got any sleep. For a small person she has a loud voice, I observe, woken up around noon by the clattering noises emanating from our kitchen. I lazily get up in my ensemble of tank top and boy-shorts and walk slowly into our tiny kitchen. I'm greeted by Jas, who's making pancakes in his underwear. Alice is sitting at the table in the living room drinking coffee. I make myself a cup and sit down across from her.

"Mornin'." I yawn, without bothering to cover my mouth. "Did you get a good night's sleep?" I ask with a grin.

"Morning, Bella. Um, yeah … about last night – I'm so sorry," she apologizes, turning red around the ears.

"It's okay. When Kate and Tanya bring guys over it's usually way worse. If they can't wait to get to their actual bedrooms you usually get quite a _show_ as well as the accompanying sound effects," I snark. "So what are your plans for today?"

"Jasper and I thought we'd go to the Met. It will be cool inside and hopefully not too crowded. Plus, they've this couture exhibit going on right now that I'm dying to check out."

"Do you want to come along?" Jasper asks, walking in with plates full of pancakes.

"I think I'm going to stay in. Maybe go see a movie to cool off. Besides, I have to go to this dude's housewarming party later on in the afternoon. You guys go, have fun. I think you need some time alone."

"Whose housewarming party?" Jasper inquires with a full mouth.

"James and Victoria," I mutter in response.

"Ugh, I'm definitely not going. James that groping fucking pig, no way."

"Oh, please Jasper. He has a girlfriend now. Plus, it's not like he's groping boys, so what do you care?" I reply, rolling my eyes, even though I secretly agree with him: James is a fucking pig – a chauvinistic one at that.

"It's disgusting to watch. And having a girlfriend? Like that has ever prevented his hands from wandering to all the wrong places. Never mind that my mom's cat probably has a higher IQ."

"Whatever, Jas. Don't go – not sure he even invited you anyway. And about the IQ, dear Jasper, not everyone can be a Valedictorian," I snort, which effectively ends our chatter on the subject of James.

We eat breakfast together talking about our jobs and I notice that both Jasper and Alice have at least a modicum of passion for what they are doing. I feel a pang of envy, as I recognize that I have zero desire to talk about my job. I stay quiet until the topic of the conversation shifts to people we went to school with. Alice doesn't know most of the people we went to high school with, but there were some that we knew since our elementary school days together.

"Do you remember Jessica Stanley?" Jas asks Alice.

"Yeah, I think I vaguely remember? What happened to her?" she asks, her curiosity peaks as she sees the smile that spreads across my face when Jas mentions her.

"Well … take a stroll down Smith Street and stop by at 'Brooklyn Tattoos'," Jasper suggests and I laugh.

"What – she works there? That's all?" Alice asks, not understanding our amusement.

"You had to have known her in high school to appreciate that tidbit of information. She was President of the Young Republicans and was a total bitch. She wanted to institute abstinence only Sex Ed and lobbied to change the biology curriculum to reflect creationism as an alternative to evolution, but …"

"Then she met Mike Newton, tattoo artist extraordinaire. Now she works in his shop and pierces people's genitals for a living," Jas finishes, laughing.

"Well, as long as she's happy, that's all that counts, right?" Alice questions, and as soon as the words leave her mouth, I realize she's right; we can laugh all we want about Jessica's strange transformation from JCrew wearing Republican to leather clad tattoo vixen, but if she's happy than she might be miles ahead of most of us. We joke around for a while and gossip before we leave the apartment together.

Alice and Jas walk into the subway hand in hand to go to Manhattan, while I walk down Court Street to see a movie in the well-air-conditioned multiplex theater. I buy tickets for "Mr. & Mrs. Smith." Staring at Brad Pitt while nibbling on Twizzlers and drinking Diet Dr. Pepper is definitely a win.

After the movie, I stop at a liquor store to buy some booze for the house warming party. I grab three bottles of white wine and pay out in a hurry, realizing from a glance at the clock in the store that I'm running late, as usual.

I storm out the door and down the street when I feel myself pressed hard against muscles covered by cotton. I almost stumble, but the person in the white t-shirt holds my elbow. I look up and see _him_.

"Sorry," I say, steadying myself on his arm. "Thanks." I nod and stand there for a second. I want to talk to him, because he is just too delicious looking for his own good. He's wearing green cargo shorts, a t-shirt and Vans. I wait for him to say something, but he just stands there shuffling around his feet.

"So ... just wanted to say sorry about yesterday," he says sincerely, looking down at me.

"Huh?"

"About not coming to Southpaw last night … " he explains and I release a breath that I didn't know I'd been holding.

"No worries," I respond quickly, checking the time on my phone. "Sorry, I'm late for this housewarming thing … " He doesn't say anything, so I mumble "bye" and start to walk away. I take about three steps before I sense that he hasn't moved but is staring at my back now. I turn around. "Do you want to come? As my guest? It's probably going to be lame …" I shrug my shoulders and watch as a smile spreads across his face.

"Yeah, I'd love to." He closes the distance between us and walks casually beside me. I notice that he's really tall and I feel tiny next to him. I barely reach his shoulder.

"So Edward, what do you do when you're not prowling the hood on your skateboard?"

"I have an internship at a hospital in the city. Mostly I just do administrative stuff and I volunteer at the Senior Center down the block," he tells me. I hear this and my heart goes out to him. Many of my college classmates still haven't found a job and are basically jumping from unpaid internship to unpaid internship. A twinge of guilt hits me because I hate my paid job so much, when really, I should be happy I have one.

"Shit, that sucks," I offer as consolation.

"Nah, it's okay actually. What do you do?" he asks.

"I work for a TV network as a production assistant for a really stupid show. I hate my job," I admit. We arrive in front of James and Victoria's new apartment building and I ring the doorbell.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, you've got no idea. But it pays, so I really shouldn't complain," I sigh, as the door buzzes and we enter the building.

"So whose party is this?" he asks as we walk up the steps.

"This dude that I used to hang out with in college and his new girlfriend just moved in together. This is their housewarming party." We enter the apartment and an already wasted James grabs my ass as he pulls me into a hug, right in front of his girlfriend.

"Hi, James," I greet him, squirming quickly out of the hug.

"Who did ya bring along there, Ms. Swan?" he slurs, throwing an arm over my shoulders and facing Edward.

"James, meet Edward. Edward, meet James." I try my best to politely introduce them to each other, even though Edward has a rather grim, tight-lipped look on his face as he shakes James' hand. Victoria eyes me warily. This isn't the first time James' hands have found their way to my backside. In fact, I'm certain I remember him doing this to anyone with a vage and boobs during several drunken college parties.

I walk into the kitchen and Edward follows. I hand him a bottle of wine and a corkscrew while I search for wine glasses. I'm later than I thought. The kitchen is a mess, the sink full of dirty dishes. I watch him expertly uncork the bottle and hand him two glasses. He fills them and hands me one smiling.

"Cheers." I clink my glass against his.

"Cheers," he responds smirking. "So what would you rather be doing, if you hate your job?"

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it, you know? In college I had no career plan and I still don't think I have one. This job just sort of fell into my lap and it sounded like something I would like doing."

"But now you hate it," he muses. "What do you like to do when you're not at work?"

"I read a lot, but that's about it. I doubt I could find a gig where I'd get paid for doing that."

"Don't editors for publishing houses read all day?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but in order to become an editor, you have to be an editor's assistant first and I heard that job is as boring and mindless as my current job. So …" I sigh.

"With some luck though, you'd become an editor eventually and then at least you'd have something to look forward to at the end of the work day." He correctly assesses my situation, and I have to admit he's astute and also that I am completely smitten with him.

Previous encounters with skateboard obsessed boys had left me with the distinct impression that they generally were only interested in destruction of property, finding empty swimming pools and pulling off stunts involving nudity and cops. But apparently I'm wrong, at least as far as Edward is concerned.

"What about you? Do you have a master plan?" I ask jokingly.

"I don't know yet, maybe medical school eventually," he hedges carefully. We sit down at the kitchen table and talk and banter until it's dark outside and we've finished two of bottles of wine. The more he tells me about himself, his hopes and his aspirations, the more intrigued I am. I never met anyone with such altruistic career goals and I feel a bit envious of the clarity with which he sees his path in life. I seem to have no ambitions whatsoever. I look up at the clock above the kitchen door and notice that it's almost 11 o'clock. The only people left are really drunk or passed out.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" I suggest to Edward.

"Sure," he answers almost immediately and gets up.

I quickly say goodnight to James and Victoria, who I haven't seen all night and head out of the door with Edward.

We walk side by side, his arm occasionally brushing against mine, and I want to kiss him badly every time one corner of his mouth goes up and creates a crooked grin.

"This is me," I say when we reach my steps.

"I know."

"So I guess …" I start talking, but before I can say goodnight he kisses me. It's a quick peck on the lips. He straightens himself up again and I touch my mouth with my fingers, not quite sure whether I've ever felt this before – this jolt of electricity from a simple kiss.

He pulls his hair back with his hand and looks nervous and insecure all of a sudden. I put my hand behind his neck and pull him back down to me, kissing him. I slide my tongue over his bottom lip and he opens his mouth, our tongues greedily searching and exploring. Within seconds he pulls me close to him and I move my hands underneath his t-shirt, feeling his skin, exploring his back. His hands move to my ass, as he crushes me closer, and I feel his hard-on pushing against my stomach. I grind against him and pull his hair.

"Get a fucking room!" I hear some old guy say as he walks his Labrador past us. I glance up at the windows to my apartment and notice that the light is on in the living room. I make a decision quickly.

He's still holding me and we're panting, our foreheads touching.

"My roommate's at home. Your place?" I whisper, looking into his eyes. I hear him growl and nod. He keeps his arm around my shoulder with his hand resting on my hip and we walk two blocks until we reach another brownstone. He drags me through an entrance below the stairs.

"Are you living with your parents?" I ask as I notice that the house is not divided into apartments.

"Yes, with my dad, but he's not home," he answers. I'm not surprised. I mean, hey, unpaid internship, where else would he live but with his parents, right?

He pulls me into his room and starts kissing me immediately. We fall onto his bed and he lands on top of me. He kisses me and the boy can kiss. I pull my leg up to his waist and pull him closer to me. He grinds into me, panting, groping, searching for more skin under my shirt. He leans on his forearm and pulls his t-shirt off while I do the same.

"May I?" he asks looking at the front clasp of my bra.

"You're kidding, right?" I laugh. "I think we may be past that at this point," I say, looking down at where our bodies are pressed together.

He smiles as he flicks the clasp open and I shrug my bra off. He turns on the light next to his bed and I see him staring down at me, sweat shimmering over his eyebrow. His touch is reverent, and I can feel my nipples harden in response as I watch him. Moving down, he starts kissing and licking my breasts. He places feather light kisses down my stomach to the top of my skirt, he stops and looks up at me for permission. _What's he waiting for? _I nod slowly, watching his fingers dip below the waistband. He pulls down my skirt and places his hand on my panties. I buck my hips into his hand searching for friction and he looks up at me, seeming a little surprised.

"Uhm, tell me what feels good?" he asks hesitantly, as if he's not sure on how to proceed.

"Sure," I assure him, as he pushes my cotton panties down with a curious expression on his face. Edward places kisses on the inside of my thighs before carefully pushing his fingers against me, sliding up and down, without ever hitting the right spot. I'm getting a little frustrated waiting for him to figure out female anatomy 101, so I take his finger and place it on my clit.

"Here?" Edward responds pressing his finger down, before placing a kiss on the spot where I felt his finger two seconds earlier.

"More please," I pant, now that he's finally hitting a homerun.

I gasp, as he licks and starts sucking. He carefully glides a finger into me and starts moving it in and out in perfect rhythm with his tongue.

"Uhh, so close," I shift my hips forward again, seeking release from the touch of his mouth and fingers. Turns out his hands are magical once properly instructed. I find release quickly and lie panting and sweaty while he still licks up and over my clit. I'm too sensitive, so I reach between my legs and move his face up to me and kiss him. I taste myself on his lips.

I reach for his shorts, undo the button and the zipper and reach for him, feeling him hard and straining against his boxer shorts. He exhales loudly when I grab him, looking down to watch my hand as his stomach muscles contract sharply.

"Condoms?" I whisper and he swallows loudly.

"Hang on," he answers reaching to the nightstand next to his bed. I glance down at it and see a stack of skate DVDs in the bottom shelf of the stand.

He opens up the drawer and pulls out an unopened box of condoms. He lies down next to me, fumbling to open the box. I decide it's time to get rid of the rest of his clothing. I crawl on top of him and pull down his shorts together with his boxers. I watch as his erection springs free, before leaning in and kissing him from his navel across his flat stomach. He shivers below me.

"Wait," he says, breathing hard. I look up at him from my position and see that he has ripped the box of condoms, but hasn't managed to get one out.

I move up to rest my chin on his chest. He drops the string of condoms on the bed next to us and kisses my mouth. I move to the side next to him and we are facing each other, touching and kissing, his erection touching my naked stomach. I stroke him lightly and push my thumb over his tip. He hisses and reaches for the condoms. He rips open the foil of one package, and I see that his hands are shaking. He almost drops the rubber on the bed between us.

I wonder what's making him so nervous, but push the thought aside; I want him _now_. I take the condom from his shaking fingers and in one swift motion pull it over his length. He kisses me and rolls back onto his back keeping me close to him, so that I'm effectively back to lying on top of him.

"Do you mind?" he whispers.

"Lazy boy," I answer, biting my lip and grinning, as I straddle him and then position him at my entrance. I slide down his length slowly, feeling him stretch me, and bend down to kiss him. He puts his hands on my hips and I start moving on top of him. He promptly finds my rhythm and starts pushing his hips into mine. I feel him tense underneath me rather quickly and hope he's not close. I grind my hips into his one of more time and feel him shudder underneath me. He's done. I'm a little disappointed, but don't let it show. He's sweet and I like him. So I kiss him softly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"It's okay," I say, smiling, releasing him and moving next to him resting on my side. Edward tosses the used condom on the floor next to the bed and I lean my head against his shoulder comfortably.

My fingers trace the lines of his torso idly and he pulls up one of the sheets from his bed to cover us. He kisses my forehead and I hope he doesn't fall asleep immediately. I remember that I'll have to get up in the morning and run over to my apartment to take a shower, before going to work. I try to get up to look for my bag with my cell phone so I can set the alarm to go off around seven o'clock, but he holds me to him, not letting me go.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" he asks, looking a little worried, but trying to sound casual.

"I just need to find my cell phone to set the alarm."

"Okay," he breathes into my hair and releasing his hold on me. I find my bag and my cell phone and sit on the corner of his bed, setting the alarm on my phone and then look around his room.

"I see you haven't really redecorated since moving back in," I say with a chuckle, eyeing skateboard posters and a shelf filled with soccer trophies. He doesn't answer me, but instead pulls me back to bed and starts kissing me. He moves on top of me and I can feel he's hard again.

"Ready again?" I laugh.

"Yeah," he answers, smiling into my neck. My fingers move along his back and I feel him slipping over me. I gasp at how good he feels and his smell.

I remember a story from my physical anthropology class in college about sweaty t-shirts given to girls to see which scent they preferred. It turns out biology has it's own way of determining your match: in that experiment, the girls favored the smell of t-shirts recently worn by males whose immune response genes were different from their own; the different immune genes when combined ensure that the offspring of the couple is more likely to have a strong immune system and therefore a higher chance of survival. It's all chemistry.

If Edward's smell is any indication, he's my match.

"I want you," he whispers and I nod. He reaches for another condom and this time his hands are not shaking as he pulls out the rubber and pushes it over his erection.

"I want you too," I moan into his mouth. He pushes against me, but not hard enough. I lift my hips up and feel his head slip inside. He moves forward slowly, filling me inch by inch. Once he's inside of me completely, he starts thrusting.

"Feels so good," he breathes, picking up his pace with his elbows on either side of my face. I move my legs up to his waist and push him deeper with the heels of my feet, urging him on. He pushes up on one hand and lets the other glide towards my ass. I close my eyes and I can feel my climax building. I shove my hips up to meet his.

"So close," I gasp, as he increases his speed and I can feel myself coming, clenching around him. He thrusts in a couple of more times before collapsing on top of me.

After I catch my breath, I wiggle underneath him. He pulls out with a groan and tosses the condom aside. He lies down next to me and we spoon, while I drift off into a deep sleep, spent.

Edward rubbing his hard member against my backside wakes me up a little while later. I'm about to turn around to tell him I'm too tired for another round. I have a job after all and have to get up early in the morning while his interning ass probably doesn't have to show up until later, if at all. But then I hear him moan in my hair.

"Bella …" I glance over my shoulder and see that his eyes are closed. He's sound asleep. I turn my head around and kiss him. He wakes up and kisses me back.

We fuck twice more in the middle of the night. I take it back: sometimes looks and attraction do translate to chemistry in bed.

I hear a knock on the door and I open my eyes. The sun is up, but I haven't heard my cell phone go off.

"Edward, are you up?" I hear a female voice outside the door yell.

My blood runs cold and I shake his shoulder, trying to rouse him. Before I can get him to wake up to answer whoever is hollering at the door, the door flies open. At first I'm relieved when I see Alice Cullen in front of me, but then my brain starts churning.

Alice … living with her dad … younger brother … you've got to be fucking kidding me.

_Motherfucker._

"Bella!" Alice shrieks.

"Alice!" I mutter, covering my head with my hands. I realize that I'm now officially sitting topless in front of her and pull the sheet up, looking for my underwear. "I'm sorry, Alice! Shit, I had no idea."

Finally, Edward stirs beside me and looks up. His expression mirrors mine.

"Alice, get the fuck out of my room!" he yells, pulling the sheets up around him.

"Don't worry. I'm out of here." She closes the door loudly behind her. I jump out of bed and start looking for my underwear and the rest of my clothing.

I find my underwear and my shirt, swearing under my breath while I put them on. I pause then, looking at Edward for a second who is sitting with his head buried in his hands.

I look around the room, seeing it clearly in the morning light.

_Fuck._

"How old are you?" I whisper, terrified to find out the answer.

"Seventeen."

I pause, not knowing how to react. "I'm sorry?" I say. "I had no idea. I wouldn't have asked you to come to the party and I most certainly would have never touched you, if I'd known."

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel great," he huffs, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on quickly. Finally, I see my skirt peeking out from underneath the bed; I go grab it, put it one and take my bag. A look at my cell phone confirms that it's still really early and I have enough time to get ready to go to work.

"Listen, I gotta run. I'm really so sorry," I say quickly, my back turned towards him, heading toward the door. All I can think about is how fast I can get out of here. I'm about to press down on the door handle, when I hear him.

"Am I going to see you again?" he asks quietly. I feel guilty and ashamed, so I turn around and look at him sitting at the corner of his bed.

"I don't think that's a good idea. This was … a mistake," I say bluntly, not wanting any misunderstanding between us.

Before he can respond I bolt out of the room. The number seventeen echoes in my head as I run out, down the steps of his house and into the street.

I walk quickly home and my mind keeps on going over the events of last night. How the hell did I not realize how fucking young he is? I think about what we did in his room and I blush. His nervousness and the way he dropped the condom. I pray that I wasn't his first. The thought makes me instantly ill. Did I just deflower a seventeen-year-old? I feel the bile rising from my stomach up to my esophagus and make it to the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl

"You alright, Bells?" I hear Jasper's concerned voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

"I'm alright. I think it was something I ate." I rinse my mouth with Listerine while I look at myself in the mirror. I can't stand what I see. I cry in silence sitting on the bathroom floor. My life is a disaster. I hate my job and a fucking seventeen-year-old has more of a plan on what to do with this one-time-chance for a life than I have at the age of twenty-three. After wallowing in self-pity for ten minutes, I get up to search for my phone to call in sick. Jasper leaves around eight to go to work and Kate and Tanya won't be back until tonight, which is a good thing, because I need time alone to think. I need change, not a distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Many thanks to my betas KCerena & Reamhar. Kisvakondok pre-read and told me it doesn't stink.**

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I would've tossed my work Blackberry into the East River a long time ago.**

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**II. Hemophobia**

_Winter 2010, EPOV_**  
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I'm pushing the shopping cart through the overcrowded aisles of the local supermarket. I'm not here by choice. Carlisle's girlfriend Elisabeth insisted she needed my help and dragged me along. I hate the place. It's Sunday and it's packed full of parents with screaming kids and trendy couples who are carrying around long-ass shopping lists. I've only been in here for five minutes, and I'm already exhausted and annoyed. The people with kids particularly irritate me; they hold up traffic and shove carts into your heels without even saying sorry. Somehow you're supposed to excuse their rudeness and general lack of concern for anybody else but themselves, because they have to watch their offspring. So you managed to reproduce, big fucking deal! It really doesn't take much.

Elisabeth sends me down an aisle to go grab some canned tomatoes for the dinner she's preparing. I silently promise myself that the next time I'm forced to attend a family gathering, I will show up just in time for dinner and not a minute earlier, so I cannot be scammed into helping out. I don't know how Alice always manages to talk her way out of coming and I'm a tad envious of her uncanny ability to come up with excuses that prevent her from dragging her bony ass to Brooklyn every time our dad calls.

I stare at the variety of canned tomatoes and I'm about to head back to search for Elisabeth to ask which brand of diced, crushed, or whole tomatoes she prefers when I see _her_. I haven't seen her in almost five years. I can name the date when I last saw her and that makes me feel like a pathetic loser. I mean, what kind of guy still thinks about a girl he hooked up with five years ago for one night?

While I stand there frozen, unable to move, I can't help but stare at her. She looks the same at first glance; long dark hair with a tinge of red falling down her back, pale skin, and a lithe figure. She's hunching over some shelf and I can't see her face, yet I know immediately, almost instinctually, that it's her this time for real. In the first months after that night, I thought I saw her on every street I walked down and in every subway car I stepped into. It was always an imaginary version and never the real deal. But that hasn't happened to me in a while now. Not after I knew she moved on, moved away to L.A., shortly after that night.

I still don't know what to call the night I spent with her. It's hard to identify or put a label on something that was at same time the best and the most disappointing experience of your life.

I notice her douche of a roommate/best friend Jasper is standing next to her and they're arguing about something. Before I have time to process what I want to do next (turning around and running out of this place seems like a good option), she straightens herself and turns around, facing me. I stand there like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move, with a can of crushed tomatoes in my left hand. I look at her face and she looks more beautiful than I remember. Her hair is wild, her porcelain skin looks flushed and her lips look moist and delicious. All my teenage fantasies come sweeping back over me like a tidal wave, and I almost stumble backwards when they come crushing down hard.

_Bella. _

"Hey," she says with a smile on her face. "Edward, right? How're you doing?" She takes a step toward me, holds her hand out and I take it lamely. A current of electricity hits me. She still has that effect on me.

I've dreamed about this moment sometimes. Who am I kidding? More times than I like to admit. What it would be like to see her again. In my dreams, I'd always had a quick and witty line ready, but in reality I'm completely speechless. I don't know what to say to her and quickly resign myself to the fact that I'm not going to walk away from our meeting feeling good, superior or happy.

"Hey," I finally manage to mutter. Her roommate disappears without further greeting, even though I know he knows me. I can tell Bella is growing tired of my continued silence and is about to walk away.

I panic. I can't let her leave. Considering how utterly awkward and low this encounter makes me feel, I have to know what she's doing here, calculate what the chances are that I'll run into her again, so I can try and plan to avoid any areas she might frequent like the plague.

"What are you doing here?" I spout out before she's gone. She turns around and furrows her eyebrows.

"Grocery shopping, it appears," she answers with a smirk.

"That's not what I meant," I amend. "I mean what are you doing in here, in New York?"

"Oh, I just moved back here. Charlie, my dad, still lives here. He's getting old and for my work it's not that important anymore where I am. So I thought it was time to come home," she finishes with a sigh. I'm tempted to comment about her work, but instead I nod like the complete moron that I am and keep my trap shut.

When she has enough of me gawking at her and being mum, she tosses the rice she's picked up into a cart next to her and gets ready to leave. "Well, it was nice seeing you. I'll see you around, I guess." She smiles and walks away.

Fuck my life!

I stare at her retreating form until she's gone. I feel cheated. This wasn't supposed to go this way. I was supposed to be the one who's all talkative and cool when we meet again, preferably with some hot girl holding onto my arm. At least that's what the reel of my dreams looks like, if you replay it. But no, I remained the 17-year-old fumbling idiot version of myself – just like the last time I saw her. Is there a way to rewind this scene, I wonder?

I stand there with the can in my hand for what seems like forever. Elisabeth comes looking for me eventually and asks me whether something is wrong. I snap out of it and tell her I'm fine. I don't see Bella or Jasper anymore. They disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

At night, when I catch the train home to my studio in the student housing complex, my memory drifts back to that summer. The summer I spent with my dad in Brooklyn before heading off to college. My mother had decided to marry a hedge-fund-running idiot during my junior year of high school, and after a year of living with them I had to get out. Not even the ridiculous new mansion they'd just bought with the Olympic size swimming pool made me want to stay. Thankfully, Carlisle, my biological father, offered to let me live with him for the summer.

I was bored in the beginning. Yeah, I met some guys in the neighborhood to hang out with and I had two internships I had to show up for three days of the week. None of it managed to keep me adequately occupied though. Until one fateful day I saw her walking down the street dressed in shorts, a tank top and flip-flops, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other.

She became the object of my obsession in every way that summer. I spent every waking minute of the day, when I wasn't stuck at one of my internships, following her around and watching her every move. I figured out pretty quickly were she lived and that she had roommates. One morning I followed her all the way to work. I sat in the same subway car and stared at her. She was reading Wuthering Heights, and chewing on her bottom lip while crossing and uncrossing her legs, wearing some skimpy dress. I stayed on the train and followed her when she got off. A TV station occupied the entire building she walked into.

On a day when my supervisor let me leave early and I was pretty certain she wasn't at home, I walked to her building and checked the names on the different mail boxes in the hallway. I was pretty certain she lived on the top floor, because I saw her coming home one night and the light went on in the top floor apartment. There were four names listed on the mailbox for that apartment. One of them was a dude's name. Three names remained – one of them had to be hers.

I discovered all sorts of things by watching her this way. She hunched her shoulders and didn't smile when she was on her way to work. She looked like she was always in a hurry, always running late for something. She wore a lot of tiny dresses but never heels. She tripped a lot: over curbs, down stairs, over steps into stores – literally everywhere. Sometimes I saw her riding around on an old man's bicycle without gears. The girl of my teenage fantasies was also a bookworm, because wherever she went, she carried some ratty old paperback or other around with her. On weekends, she went out a lot. On occasion, I followed her to some clubs or bars in the city, but I was always too chicken-shit to attempt to get in.

I knew my stalking was completely OCD, but I couldn't help myself. I was magically drawn to her. I wonder now whether she'd noticed I'd followed her. I tried to be sly about my stalking, but in retrospect, I was pretty obvious.

Alone in my bed at night, I dreamed about her. Every night I went through some fantasy or another that involved Bella naked underneath me, on her knees in front of me, above me . . . I think I almost had a permanent hard-on all summer and started to take showers compulsively in the mornings, in the afternoons when I came home, and again before I went to bed. I didn't know her name and the girl had yet to say a word to me, yet she had me wrapped around her finger already.

Sometimes I tried to conjure up plans to talk to her that I didn't follow through with. I knew she was older than me and my gut feeling told me, that once she figured out I was barely a freshman entering college, she'd dismiss me in a heartbeat. I wasn't ready for the sting of rejection. Instead of finding some harmless conversation starter for the next time I saw her, I settled on some lame attempts at flirting, like giving her my best grin, which my mother had always told me was my best asset. Needless to say, it didn't seem to work. Not that I really knew how to flirt back in the day.

I hadn't dated or hooked up with anybody from my high school, mostly because I felt so above all the bullshit of that place. I had no interest in hanging out with most of my classmates and steered clear of any kind of school-organized social function. I'd thwarted some advances with some snide, condescending remarks, which garnered me the reputation of being an asshole on top of being a loner. Once I let some girl give me a blowjob at a party Alice threw at our house, because she feely offered and I was too drunk to say no. Other than that my experiences with girls were limited.

Then one day that summer, opportunity knocked and I decided it was time to answer the call. It was a hot Saturday morning in August. My heart skipped a beat, or several, when I saw her standing with her crappy bicycle in front of her house. I could see her bikini top underneath the wife beater she was wearing. When I passed her, I swore she smiled at me. Thinking back now, that probably was a figment of my imagination.

The smile I thought I saw encouraged me and even at the risk of being rejected or making an utter fool of myself, I figured it was now or never. Seeing the bikini top, I put two and two together and figured she was on her way to the public pool I'd seen her go to before. So I rolled back home, grabbed my trunks and followed her. I thought the place was completely disgusting; I had to brave the grimy dressing room and the slimy wading pool to see her.

Worst-case scenario, I calculated, she'd blow me off, but at least I would have seen her almost naked. I was shocked when she didn't. I walked out of that dreadful pool so happy that I almost got run over by a car as I rolled down smack in the middle of a busy street.

She'd given me her name and hadn't outright dismissed me. Her roommate had let me in on where I could find them that night, which kind of seemed odd to me. I'd never liked the guy. I'd seen them together a bunch of times. They obviously weren't a couple, yet he seemed to stare daggers at any guy who so much as dared to glance in her direction.

I didn't even care that I wouldn't get into the club that night, because I knew sooner or later I would run into her again – what, with my stalking tendencies and all – and then it wouldn't seem unusual to talk to her.

I didn't have to wait long. The next day, I saw her walking into the movie theater and followed her. I bought a ticket to the next available showing of some lame movie and chased after Bella's retreating form. The movie was some action flick with a girl with big lips and a nice ass. I didn't care, since I was busy watching Bella. She'd propped her feet up on the seat in front of her and was chewing on Twizzlers.

After the movie, she walked into a liquor store and I decided to wait outside. She stumbled directly into my arms as she walked out and proceeded to invite me to a party. We talked all night. Bella assumed immediately I was her age and I never bothered to correct her. I couldn't. I liked her. She was pretty, witty, and smart. I knew she'd run if I told her I was seventeen.

I still don't know after all these years whether Bella felt even an ounce of the attraction I felt for her. Once my lips crushed into hers there was no turning back; so I took her home to my room at my dad's house. Stupid move, I know. Hindsight is always 20/20. What was I supposed to do? She told me her roommate was at home. I assumed automatically it was the Jasper dude, and I didn't really care to run into him.

I don't think I had a plan for how I'd get her out of my room in the morning without running into my annoying bitch sister or Carlisle for that matter. All I knew was that I wanted her like I had never wanted a girl before. I hooked up with her, slept with her, had sex with her - whatever you want to call what we did that night. None of these descriptions seems adequate to describe what it felt like to be with her. Every tiny touch of her fingers and all her kisses felt somehow just right; the way her skin smelled, the way she tasted – I still dream about it. She's still the girl of my fantasies.

Since then I've slept with a fair number of girls and I think know now what I'm talking about when I say that nothing ever measured up to that night, to her. Everything with her was just better. Even our first time, which lasted all but 30 seconds, was somehow better than what followed in the years after that. I know this doesn't make sense.

Things came crashing down swiftly the next morning when my sister walked, uninvited, into my room. Through some twisted coincidence, Bella and Alice knew each other and it didn't take long for Bella to figure out that I was Alice's younger brother. Bella practically ran out on me after I confessed I was 17. Ironically I turned 18 two weeks later, not that it would have made a difference to her. She probably still would've sprinted out of there as if her heels were on fire.

In the evening, when I knew she had to be home, I rang the bell to her apartment and someone buzzed me in. Unfortunately it wasn't Bella who opened the door. Instead Jasper and Alice were standing in the door of the apartment. They told me Bella wasn't home and even if she was, she didn't want to see me. I was stunned to find out that my sister was apparently dating her roommate. They put up a united front in the weeks following, vehemently discouraging me from talking to her or even coming near her.

But that didn't stop me. I wanted to talk to her, apologize possibly. I skulked around in all the spots I used to see Bella. I watched the entrance to her building, walked the route she usually took to the subway in the morning and afternoons, and even went to her job once. The security guy sitting next to the elevator bank refused to let me up.

My behavior was feeble, but I couldn't help it. Even once I went to college, I visited my dad's house every weekend, hoping I'd ran into her. Instead of watching girls in too small shorts and tiny tops prance around the steps in front of Low Library, I hurried home, hoping that I'd be able to see her and explain.

It never happened; I didn't see her again – not until today of course. I never got to tell her back then that I really liked her, that I'd turn 18 in just two weeks, that five years was really not much of an age difference at all and that I wouldn't be moving away for college. I'd be right here in the city for the next four years attending Columbia University

Around mid September that year, Alice told me Bella had moved to L.A. for a new job. She told me if it were meant to be, I would catch up with her eventually. I was so numb after she gave me the news that I didn't even snap at her. I laughed pretty damn hard three weeks later though when she told me that Jasper had dumped her via text-message, changed his cell phone number, and had apparently moved to LA without leaving a forwarding address. I was tempted to say "Yeah, don't worry about it. If it's meant to be, you'll catch up with him eventually." I didn't. I stared at her looking all small, teary-eyed, and tired and I wondered whether the expression of her face mirrored mine.

After I knew Bella had left, I gave up and buried myself in schoolwork. I graduated college on fast track in three years and started med school right away, without even taking a summer off. I don't know how I had the time during the last five years to date, but I did. First there was Lauren; she was so dumb that I was tempted to plug my ears to drown her out whenever she was around. I met her during some retarded core curriculum class. After that experience, I lost faith in the admissions process of the Ivies; if she made it in, any idiot should be able to get accepted. Next was Jane. She was smart, but mean. She almost took pleasure in talking smack and it was exhausting to listen to. After Jane came Leah. She was a psychopath who wanted to get married after dating for three weeks during senior year. I dumped her right before graduation, went on an extended vacation to Europe and changed my cell phone number.

During first year of med school, I started dating Angela. We met at an interschool mixer. She was getting her masters in social work and somehow we meshed. Angela was nice and sweet, and in retrospect, almost too sweet. She had brown hair and brown eyes and maybe that was the reason I was initially attracted to her. Rationally, I knew we were made for each other, but my heart wasn't in it. Needless to say it didn't last. Rather than drag her along when I knew we wouldn't last, I broke up with her before the holidays last December.

Through my serial dating years, my mind always wandered back to Bella. I couldn't help it. The fact that she became first a screenwriter with decent credits and then published a book, which was on The New York Times Bestseller list for months, didn't exactly help. When her book, an acclaimed and well-reviewed compilation of short stories, first came out, I read the entire book twice in one night even though I had an anatomy final the next day. The stories were all about relationships. I searched diligently for a hint of _our_ story in her book. It wasn't in there and I was disillusioned, bitter even. It was further proof of just how insignificant our one night stand was to her.

All those memories come back to me sitting on the hard plastic seat on the train. I should just get over it and move on with my life. After all, I have bigger things to worry about. This is my last semester of my second year as a medical student and all the other students are stoked to complete this year and move on to the next stage in their education – working with actual patients during their rotations next year. All of the students, but me. I'm terrified. I'd rather hide in theoretical classes on physiology and biochemistry for the rest of my life than face the practical aspects of medicine.

This might have something to do with my recent confirmation that I faint at the sight of blood, and worse, puke my guts out afterward. Somewhere in the back of my mind I always knew. During my internships at hospitals in college, I was only allowed to work in the administrative offices, but it's kind of telling that I wasn't tempted to make excursion to see actual doctors at work with patients even though I was in the same building. I remember feeling nauseous in high school when we had to prick our fingers for a blood typing test. So yeah, I had an inkling that maybe I should've picked a different profession, that things weren't going to line up the way I had planned.

Then, about a year ago, my suspicion was strengthened. Alice got into a fender-bender and called me to pick her up from the hospital all the way out in Long Island, bitching and moaning how she couldn't stand to spend the night in itchy, ugly hospital garb. I knew she would have kept calling me, so I gave in, borrowed Carlisle's car and picked her up. While I stood next to her bed, waiting for the attending to clear her to go home, a kid walked past us with a broken nose. Blood was soaking through the gauze the nurse held in his face faster than she could replace it. I managed to avert my eyes early enough to avoid a full-blown fainting spell. The rate of my heartbeat decreased rapidly, my mouth went dry and I had to sit down. To Alice's chagrin I also threw up my lunch into the garbage can in front of the hospital before we left.

The next time, I wasn't so lucky. One of my professors had asked me to come to his office at the hospital to discuss a case study we were working on for his class. He didn't have much time and told me to come along while he performed a routine appendectomy. Before I could protest and tell him that I'd come back later, I was standing in scrubs in the operating room. I don't remember much after the first incision. When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the hallway outside the OR with a kidney bowl lying conveniently close. I made up some excuse about how I'd been battling the flu, but I don't think I convinced anybody.

I survived the required pathology class last semester, but barely and only because the blood flow is severely diminished once the heart stops beating.

I haven't told anyone about my aversion to blood, partially because I don't know what to do about it. I keep on pushing it aside, telling myself I'll figure it out when I get there. But what's there to figure out? I doubt it's going to go away and I can't control it. Apparently it's my body's natural reaction to the sight and smell of blood. I'm starting to wonder whether I've been running around deaf and half blind, ignoring the obvious for all those years I pursued this straight and narrow career plan of mine. I'd seen it all so perfectly clearly: College, preferably graduating early, med school, residency at an ER before joining Doctors Without Borders righter after. It hasn't slipped my attention that the girl I saw today – the one who had no plan whatsoever from what I remember – is doing way better than I am.

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**I'd love to hear what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Many thx to my master betas – Reamhar & KCerena – they make my writing pretty. Kisvakondok – who writes 'Mating in Captivity' – assures me that this story isn't complete trash. I owe her. She's awesome. **

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd be sipping pink champagne and eating strawberries for breakfast every day.**

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**III. The Puzzle**

_Winter 2010, BPOV  
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It's Monday and snowing. Staring out the window, I'm mesmerized by the slowly falling big icy flakes that settle on the thick white blanket covering the black pavement of the street below. Aside from some kids tossing snowballs, there's nobody out. Most of the cars on my block remain parked. I didn't realize during the past years that I missed snow and even the accompanying cold; how stillness hangs in the air and life's reduced to slow motion. Nothing about my life in L.A. was ever slow or still.

I'm sure my rediscovered fondness for the snow will fade when the white powder turns to black slush and ice, or when I've to dig out my car tomorrow. I guess I could call Jasper and ask him to help me shovel, but I'm kind of happy that he finally vacated my sofa last week after a two-month-long sojourn. I still don't understand how it took him so long to find his own apartment. It's not like he's on a tight budget or anything. Jasper has made a lot of money with his computer whiz work – in fact, I'm pretty certain he could retire on the boatload he made selling his last company.

After the first week of Jasper greeting me in my kitchen every day with a way too cheery and loud "Good morning," I wanted to snap at him and tell him to shut up. After three weeks of never bothering to take off the sheets from the sofa during the day, I wanted to strangle him. Finally, during the last week of his stay when he brought an Xbox into my living room which he proceeded to play during all hours of the night, I considered abandoning my apartment and staying in a hotel.

I haven't lived with a roommate in four years, and maybe that's the reason I got so annoyed by his constant presence. But I'm beginning to think there's more to it – more to my frustration with all things Jasper Whitlock; it sort of started growing out of nowhere.

We've known each other for forever and a day; we grew up together. We lit our first cigarette on our walk to school, sipped our first beer on the fire escape of my dad's apartment, and smoked our first joint together in the back of his mom's Mercedes station wagon one summer. It was kind of freaky how close we were when we were kids. He's my oldest friend. We've always kept in touch, which has been easy enough because we miraculously ended up going to the same college and always lived in the same city after graduation.

For the last six months or so, Jasper has been trying to insert himself into my life with more frequency, and little things that never used to bother me are starting to annoy me. Like his habit of chewing on his fingernails when he watches a movie, this sort of smacking sound he makes when he eats, and the way he always comments on the size of a girl's ass when she walks past him. Jasper has always had those habits, traits … whatever you want to call them; they've just never bothered me before. Now they make my skin crawl. No, I'd rather dig the car out myself, even if it will take me an hour by myself and might make me sore for a couple of days.

Yesterday, when I wanted to enjoy a quiet Sunday, Jasper dropped by unannounced and had the gall to let himself in with the keys I gave him when he last stayed with me. I confiscated the keys right after he entered. He proceeded to tell me that he needed me to take him to IKEA and the supermarket because he didn't have a car. I was tempted to tell him to cab it, but then, feeling guilty, relented.

As if furniture shopping and an overcrowded supermarket weren't enough to make me miserable, I had to run into my last truly great one night stand – Edward. And I mean really freaking toe-curling, skin-tingling great. The morning after was horrible … but the night …

Technically, running into him had the potential to make my day, albeit it didn't. It was a complete letdown. I couldn't wait to get away from the supermarket afterward and compulsively checked the rearview mirror in my car to see whether I'd developed some unsightly skin rash on my face or, god forbid, a huge pimple that would explain his stares. My reflection confirmed what I'd suspected: it was just plain old me. The only conclusion I could draw was that he no longer liked what he saw. Maybe I should listen to Rose and invest in a decent wrinkle cream these days.

Here's the thing about Edward: in addition to the great sex, I also genuinely liked him when we first met. It's just that he was seventeen back then, and I was a twenty-three- year-old who was suffering through some existential crisis she couldn't handle; it wouldn't have worked, not at that point in time anyway. I was so unhappy that ultimately, no relationship would have stood a chance. But somewhere in the back of my head I think I always wished I'd run into him again, preferably after he'd graduated college.

That's why our little encounter at the supermarket was so disappointing. Edward still looks handsome, better even than I remember, though he's definitely aged. The contours of his face seem sharper and fine lines have formed around his eyes, but they suit him. Unfortunately, he was genuinely not interested in engaging in even benign small talk with me. It's not that I didn't try, but he just stared at me like I had two heads and kept quiet. I finally gave up trying to chat with him and walked away feeling dejected.

I'm getting nostalgic as I remember him. The truth is he was smarter and nicer than most of the guys I've dated since. But then again, I barely knew him, as Jasper always manages to point out. I spent only one night with him, while the other guys had the distinct disadvantage of hanging around long enough for me to discover how invariably exasperating they were. Maybe Edward would have turned out to be just as disappointing in the end, once I got to know him. Even so, thinking about our night together still makes me wish for a repeat performance. The boy was a good kisser.

I'm about to go search my kitchen for a bottle of wine and further indulge in my silly daydreams when the phone rings. I check to make sure it's not Jasper, because I'm not ready to talk to him. To my relief, it's Tanya.

"What's up?" I answer.

"Not much. Are you planning to write today or are you up for a late lunch?"

"You want me to head out in this weather?" I sigh at the thought of trudging through the snow, and suddenly I don't like the winter weather anymore.

"Don't be such a whiney puss, B. Put on some boots and get your ass off the sofa. I know you're happy and all that you finally have it to yourself again, but come on. It's not even that bad out there. Meet me at _Gitane_ in …umh…30 minutes?"

I roll my eyes, though I know she can't see me.

"Fine," I reply without further argument. I don't think I've wine in the house anyway, so I might as well go out.

A short while later I walk through the snow to the café where I find Tanya sitting at a table with a bottle of wine and two glasses on it.

"Fuck, it's cold," I complain, as I toss my coat over the chair and remove my gloves.

"Quit your complaining. First it's Jasper and now it's the weather."

I sigh. "You're right." I sit down across from her and browse the menu while she pours me a glass of red wine.

"In your defense, the weather does suck and having a sofa that burps for two months is annoying."

"Thanks. How's life been treating you?" I ask.

"Excellent actually. I'm leaving on Friday to do a shoot in Bali for two weeks. I hired some fresh meat – my new assistant is insanely hot. Are you turning green with envy yet?"

"Just a tad," I admit. Tanya works as a fashion photographer these days and her travel schedule is something I'm definitely envious about, but the boytoys she bags – not so much. There's just something slightly off-putting to me about sleeping with someone who works for you. I just don't get it. Tanya is still a young gal, but her habit of sleeping around with her twenty-year-old assistants falls in my mind flatly into the category of the 'dirty-old-man-routine' employed by older gentlemen who cheat on their spouses with their younger secretaries. I can't help it; it makes me cringe.

"So, come along!"

"I can't. I'm working on this show that's supposed to start filming in another week, and thanks to dear Jasper squatting in my apartment I didn't get as much done as I should've. I think I got it under control, but I definitely won't have the time to go on a trip right now. They might request changes and rewrites … yada, yada, yada … you know the drill."

"I understand. I mean about work and all … but I don't know why you tolerated him for that long. One week is the max someone can stay on my sofa. What's Jas' deal anyway? Did he suffer from separation anxiety because you moved back here?"

"Gawd knows. I'm just glad he's gone." Talking about Jasper will just get me into a bad mood, so I switch topics. "Guess who I ran into?" I say with a smirk on my face and a bat of my eyelashes.

"Tell me. I'm no good at guessing."

"Piercing green eyes, cocky smile and skateboard … remember?" I muse, actually blushing at the memory.

"Holy cow! Your underage loverboy! Edward, right? He was cute. Tell me, what does he look like now? He must be … like 23?" she rattles off, wide-eyed and smiling. I turn a brighter pink upon hearing her description.

"Umm, yeah…he still looks … good," I mumble. "Better … kind of. But he didn't seem too pleased to see me and that's putting it mildly."

"What do you mean? Where did you see him?"

"Well, Jas dragged me to Fairway to go grocery shopping on Sunday, and I ran into him there. He acted kind of weird. I said, 'how are you?' and he just stared. Never mind. He's still easy on the eyes, but I guess it wasn't meant to be." I shrug my shoulders, sigh and take a sip of wine.

"He dissed you?" Tanya has a bemused smirk on her face.

"Yeah, sort of. Disappointing really, since I kind of liked the guy back in the day." Tanya raises one eyebrow at me questioningly. "Well … you know, aside from the fact that he was too young, of course," I add for clarification.

"So why did you run like you were chased by wolves after that night?"

I wrinkle my forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you hooked up with him and two days later you moved to L.A. I get that Rose called you with a great job offer, but you could've at least said something to him if you liked him. He came to our apartment to talk to you, if I remember correctly. And he hung around our block for a while, I think looking for you. The poor kid did look like a lovesick puppy after you left. You should've seen him!"

"What do you mean he was looking for me?" I'm confused now.

"Well, he came to our house before you left for L.A. and wanted to talk to you, but his little bitch sister and Jasper sort of told him you didn't want to see him. I felt bad for the kid, honestly, B. Why did you jump into bed with him to begin with if you thought he was too young for you?"

"Dooh! First off, I didn't know his age. I only figured it out when I woke up the next morning because Alice kind of busted in on us. And it's not like you've never jumped into bed with someone and had second thoughts about them afterward."

"Fair enough. But come on – you had to have known he was younger! How drunk _were _you that night?"

"Don't tell me you knew he was seventeen?" I ask.

"Well, I hoped for 18 at least." She smiles widely, before elaborating, "But definitely pretty green. I mean he looked kind of young, don't you think?" She looks at me like I'm stupid. "How old did you think he was? He was rolling around on a skateboard for fuck's sake! I'm just saying ..." Tanya rolls her eyes at me.

I pause for a second. "Fuck ... I must have been blind. He was sort of sure of himself, you know? He had this master plan; he talked about med school … how was I supposed to know? He definitely didn't tell me that he'd barely graduated high school," I attempt to defend my misjudgment.

"Isn't that a classic symptom of someone who's really young? Think about it, when was the last time you were totally sure of yourself and what the future held for you? Don't you remember our grand delusional phase before we shipped off to college?" Tanya points out.

Reminiscing about the summer after we graduated high school, I'm a little shocked by my blatant obliviousness. "Shit, you're so right." I laugh out loud. "Remember, you wanted to be a designer? And then after your first year at Parsons you wanted to kill yourself?"

She chuckles. "Yeah, I do. I never wanted to see another sewing machine after the first semester in fact. Whatever happened to getting a PhD in English lit, Bells?"

"Oh, dear. I don't know what I was thinking." She's right. Soon after we all started college, doubts started settling in for most of us. I discovered pretty quickly that I didn't want to spend the next ten years of my life holed up in the library studying and writing a thesis that no one would ever read again. Then, after college, I think I became even further disillusioned. Living in your own apartment in New York turned out to be a lot less fun when you had to pay the rent from your meager paycheck at the first of every month. "Jeez, I was blind back then."

"Relax, B. Who cares? It was a long time ago. I'm just saying if you liked him, you should've talked to him before leaving town. Even if it wasn't gonna go anywhere. You could've been nicer and let him down easily."

"I honestly didn't know he came looking for me. Jasper didn't tell me. I acted like a total bitch, didn't I?" I look at her for confirmation.

"Yeah, maybe just a little." Tanya nods and smiles.

"Oh, well. Water under the bridge, I guess," I say and shrug my shoulders, even though that's not really how I feel about it.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. What exactly did you like about him so much that you still remember him?"

"He was nice, sweet, earnest . . . so idealistic, but not in a condescending judgmental way. And then the sex . . . well . . . it was …ugh…just _mmm_ . . . you know?"

"Ah, I get it. He kinda rocked your world in bed." She smiles and I nod.

We gossip about friends and jobs. It feels good to hang out with Tanya again. I've seen her infrequently during the past couple of years. We both got busy with our careers and lived on opposite ends of the country. She's still like I remember her. Time hasn't changed her in any way. She's unapologetic about her choices, but she never tries to sell you her lifestyle. It's a breeze to hang out with her.

By the time we finish two bottles of wine and eat, it's stopped snowing. I don't know for how long, but the streets are already being cleaned up. I grab a cab back home. Staring out the window as we drive across the Brooklyn Bridge, I wonder why Jasper and Alice told Edward that I didn't want to see him. I never said that. Not to them at least, though I did tell Edward in no uncertain terms that the thing between us wasn't going to go anywhere. I guess I could've been nicer about it.

Alice of course told Jasper where exactly she'd found me that morning, and he promptly proceeded to tell Kate and Tanya when they returned from their weekend excursion to Fire Island. Jasper made the story into a big joke about my taste for young boys and I got kind of mad at him for it. He made the whole night seem so insignificant. I stomped out of there and spent the night at my dad's place. In fact, I only returned to the apartment after that to pack up my suitcase.

The only other person who got the full version of that night's events was Rose, who wrinkled her nose in distaste and blamed my mishap on my self-diagnosed depression. I didn't argue with her, even though I was pretty certain what had led to that night had a good deal to do with my attraction to the boy.

Rose truly saved the day for me back then. Her dad is a TV producer and she'd offered to forward him a script that I'd written a while back. The script was sort of just an idea I had; I didn't think it would lead anywhere, but lo and behold, when I lay comatose in my steaming hot bedroom, wallowing in self-pity over my misguided affair, she called and told me to come to L.A. immediately. Her dad loved my script and was interested in hiring me. It wasn't a full-fledged job offer, but I was dying for any opportunity to escape my go-nowhere-job in New York. I booked a flight on my last remaining not-totally-maxed-out credit card and flew to L.A.

It didn't even occur to me back then that I should've talked to Edward, that maybe I'd kind of treated him like shit and had something to apologize for. I think I was a great deal embarrassed and … ashamed. I did have a guilty conscience. I'd kind of used him as a distraction despite the fact that I liked him. Avoidance seemed like the best option given the circumstances.

Everything happened so fast after that. Rose's dad hired me, I worked fourteen-hour-days six days a week, I got an agent and then other job offers started coming in … time flew by. I was busy. I'd finally found something I was good at. I was eager to work, happy that someone actually valued what I did for once. I barely worried about dating or anything like that for a year.

The first guy I dated after my move was one of my co-writers – Riley. When we first started hanging out, I thought he was a winning combination of witty and intelligent. He was cute and never bored me. Things were perfect for a while, and I think I was falling in love with him. But then I got more successful than him and things soured between us. He just couldn't stomach it when job offers for a relative newbie like me rolled in while he was still waiting to hear back from his agent on his next project. In spite of all his fem-lib talk, he turned out be quite archaic when it came to dating. At first I ignored it, because apart from his prolonged silence whenever I talked about proposals I received, everything seemed fine. And, fuck, I liked him! One day an offer for a movie script came in for me and he claimed to be sick for a week, refusing to let me near him. I wasn't even allowed to bring him chicken noodle soup. I showed up unannounced one night at his apartment and he let me in by accident, thinking I was the pizza delivery guy. Turned out he wasn't sick after all. I knew then that we were doomed. Instead of waiting around for the eventual break-up, I did him the favor of dumping him. "It's not you, it's me," I told him. "I'm just too busy with my career right now to invest time in us." I think he bought it.

The next mistake came in the form of Alec – the actor. Alec had recently been hired as a lead in a big budget production and his career was seriously starting to take off. Rose had introduced us. I don't know what she was thinking. Yeah, I was flattered by his attention and his charms, but only for about five minutes. Then his ego started to annoy me. The guy did talk perpetually about himself. Dealing with someone twice as vain as you gets exhausting, fast. We parted on amicable terms when he left town for a shoot in Vancouver. I had no desire to compete with his co-star's attention anyway.

I gave up on dating people employed in "the industry" after that, which limited my dating choices a bit in La La Land. It also didn't really help; the lawyer, the chiropractor and the architect I dated afterward were just as lackluster as my previous boyfriends.

Every so often, when I went through a mental checklist of my failed relationships, I would stumble over the memory of Edward – not that our encounter qualified as a bona fide relationship by any means. I'd just remember things about that night, like how he seemed to have such high principles and goals, how he'd completely managed to charm me that night and then the little things, like his smile, the way his skin felt when I touched him, his kisses…

"Miss, do you want me to turn left or right on Atlantic?"

"What?" I asked, disturbed by the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Do you want me to make a right or left on Atlantic to get your house?" The cab driver asked again.

"Oh, make a left and turn right on Court. Thanks."

"You got it, hon. Go back to your dreams. You looked happy."

"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically. I eye my driver suspiciously as he smiles at me from the rearview mirror, revealing some gaps and a golden front tooth. He winks at me, and I look away.

_What could that idiot possibly know about my happiness?_ I think as I close my eyes again. But I can't reach that happy place.

I've focused mostly on my career for the past five years. I've also done a fair amount of partying and socializing as part of it; it's how you meet people who'd possibly hire you. And I liked it; the invites to parties, premieres, film festivals … the freebees, the booze… life was good. Never mind that it felt great to engage for the first time in my life in some retail therapy without a guilty conscience as to where I'd get the money from to pay the bills. And for a long time it's seemed like it was enough for me. Better than enough, really. What can I say, I like my work; it keeps my bank account in the black and my mind stimulated, which is no small feat, I think. Lately, though, I've been starting to feel … I don't know how to describe it – lonely? I don't think that description fits my mood. I noticed that when Jasper stayed with me, all I desperately wanted to be was _alone_. I've spent some time ruminating over what's missing in my life, but haven't come up with anything concrete.

I exit the cab and have to climb over the hard as rock wall of snow that's been piled near the curb. They've cleaned the pretty white powdery stuff of the sidewalk and just dumped it all next to the cars. I curse the snow and the cold.

As I walk up the stairs to my apartment, I wonder whether part of the reason why my relationships have failed is because I was too busy to notice, and appreciate, the good things about the men I was dating. But then again, if I liked them, wouldn't I've automatically made more of an effort to spend time with them, get to know them?

Over the years, Rose has tried to set me up with guys regularly. At first, I humored her when she'd introduce me at parties to men she thought were perfect for me, but after she got married her pestering increased and became a hassle. The last time she called to ask if I was interested in having dinner with a friend of her husband, I told her no way. I wasn't in the mood to sit around with another guy I'd nothing in common with and make polite conversation. I'd started finding those dates tiring and awkward. I tried telling her that, but Rose just wouldn't let it go. She said if I gave up this easily, surely I'd end up by myself for the rest of my life. I told her I didn't care. It's not really that I don't care, but I'm tired of putting myself out there and getting disenchanted with the whole experience.

After her marriage to Royce King, one of her dad's prodigies, she became convinced that marriage and children were the most amazing things ever and everyone needed to experience them. I never told her, but Rose and Royce's seemingly perfect togetherness was actually kind of rubbing me the wrong way. Every time I called her to meet me for dinner or drinks, she dragged her husband along. They were practically glued together for all intents and purposes. Royce even finished her sentences for her. I found it creepy. Once she gave birth to a baby girl last October, all she would talk about was how much she loved motherhood, what a blessing it was to experience your child's first smile, and how she could never understand how some people didn't want to have children. Over time, my best friend slowly became a person I couldn't relate to. It was like the real Rose had joined a cult – the cult of the happily- married-with-kids-people – and the person left was nothing like my friend.

It's odd, really. When I was eighteen, I'm certain my life plan included not only a fantasy career path, but also marriage and kids. I guess most little girls believe that they are going to meet their prince charming one day and live happily ever after with him. My belief in that fairy tale was undoubtedly rocked by my parents' divorce when I was barely six, but still … I thought it would happen to me eventually, right? Maybe I did have my doubts early on already though about whether happily ever after was in the cards for me. As I grew up, those plans definitely became less and less a priority.

Since I can't even be bothered to go on dates anymore, I guess I should simply cross this off my list of things to do. So what's missing then?

I decide to temporarily dismiss these thought in favor of some mindless nighttime television and microwave popcorn.

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**I'd love to hear what you think! Reviews make me insanely happy**


	4. Chapter 4

**My betas are still KCerena & Reamhar – without them my writing would be littered with typos. Kisvakondok preread to ensure that this chapter doesn't suck. **

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**IV. Trapped**

_EPOV_

_Spring 2010_

As I run across the street to my next class, I notice how freakishly warm it is outside for April. I don't have time to take my jacket off since I'm late for neurology and by the time I reach my class, I'm drenched in sweat.

The professor begins his lecture with a PowerPoint presentation full of grisly photos of parts of the brain. I can stomach them, but they make feel queasy, so my eyes start roaming the lecture hall. I notice that half the girls are already dressed in tank tops and flip-flops.

Usually the first warm sunny day of the spring lightens my mood, but today all I feel is dread. Warm weather means summer is near. Summer means the end of my second year of med school is fast approaching, which in turn means that in another three months I'm scheduled to start my rotations. I'm terrified. I think I'll survive the first six weeks, because my first rotation starts in the family medicine. I'll be fucked soon though. Right after that I'm supposed to move to surgery.

I tried to flirt with a girl who has psychiatry next on her schedule to see whether she'd switch with me, but aside from having buckteeth and sour breath, she also bored me to sleep over dinner. She kept on talking about a pharmacology class we took together last semester. The class was boring enough the first time around and reliving it with her after a glass of wine made my already droopy eyelids yearn to shut tight. I quickly decided I wasn't quite that desperate, _yet_.

Eventually, the brains give way to simple graphics. On the upside, the queasiness goes away, but unfortunately I can't seem to pay attention. I must be just as tired as I was on that date. I'm having an increasingly hard time concentrating as the semester goes on. Lately the knot in my stomach, possibly brought on by my general state of panic, doesn't disappear anymore. On top of that, I'm having trouble sleeping. That is to say, I don't have any trouble falling asleep per se. It's just that after three to four hours I wake up from nightmares either with my heart beating so fast that it feels like it's going to jump out of my chest, or drenched in sweat and panting. Sometimes I can't go back to sleep after that. The nightmares fall into two categories.

One set of nightmares invariably revolves around my phobia of blood. Those dreams start out fairly harmless. I'm on a subway train or an airplane. I'm about to start flipping a page in the book I'm reading, when a fellow passenger gets ill. I don't see the person and I don't know what's wrong with him or her; in other words, I don't see blood. When someone calls out for a doctor, panic sets in and my heart starts racing. I stay frozen in place and don't volunteer. I feel guilty, but I'm terrified that I'll leave the sick person worse off. Nobody else comes forward and the calls from the stewardess, bent over the sick person, are getting more and more frantic. The neon lights around me start flickering before going out entirely.

When everything around me is black and the screams of the other passengers blur together into one screeching noise, I wake up shaking and my heartbeat never slows down. I spend the rest of the night worrying incessantly about the possibility that I might actually make it through the next two years of medical school without ever acknowledging or overcoming my fear, endangering my patients as a result.

The second set of nightmares usually allows me to go back to sleep eventually, but they're still unnerving. I started having them after I ran into _her_ two months ago. In those dreams, I'm in the same supermarket that I last saw her in, only in my dreams the place is completely empty. I hear her laughter and I run in the direction I hear her voice coming from, calling her name. She runs away. When I find Bella in the dairy aisle, she's dressed in the same skirt and skimpy little top she wore that night five years ago. I'm happy when she turns to look at me, giving me a bright smile. She walks up to me and flings her arms around my neck. I pull her tighter into my arms, feeling her body mold against mine.

"Bella," I breathe, and bend down to kiss her. Our lips barely touch. She smirks at me and pulls away to start running again. I follow her. I keep on running until I'm no longer in the supermarket but running on a promenade along the East River. It's raining and it's cold; I catch a glimpse of her shadow sprinting toward some stairs.

I lose sight of her and the next thing I know I'm falling. I never land, but wake up with the eerie feeling of my body in freefall. I feel lost. I have to get up and change my t-shirt after that dream. Eventually I fall asleep again, but still the dream disturbs me.

I haven't visited Carlisle for the past two months because I'm scared that I might run into her again. I don't even make it downtown these days. I stay securely within the ten-mile radius of school. What are the chances that she'll make it all the way up to Washington Heights? I think I'm safe here. No trendy bars or restaurants in the vicinity.

I'm terrified to talk to anyone about my fears. At this point, both Carlisle and Esme would possibly direct me to a shrink. My friends would be of no help. Make that _friend_, come to think of it, since only one person comes to mind who I actually hang out with these days and only because he keeps on pestering me. Everybody else has stopped calling. Suffice to say, he'd roll his eyes if I told him about Bella and tell me that I needed to get laid. If I told him about the blood thing, he'd possibly tell me to deal with it, to suck it up.

I really don't have any 'friends' at school. In fact, I loathe my fellow students of medicine – overeager little weasels. They're all intensely competitive and would love it if I shared some of my personal drama with them. They'd be giddy with delight, I'm certain, if they discovered that the guy with the perfect GPA and lab scores can't handle the 'practical' aspect of the work.

I'm about to take a nap in the library when my cell phone goes off. Some students shoot me nasty looks as I answer the damn phone quickly.

"Hello?" I whisper.

"Why are you whispering?" Emmett's voice echoes in my ear.

"Hang on a second." I get up and walk briskly to the nearest exit. "I'm in the library studying," I say once I'm in the hallway.

"Dude, why are you in the library? It's 85 degrees outside."

"I've exams in another three weeks. Unlike you, I actually like to pass my classes first time around," I snap. Emmett was my roommate during freshman year of college. Technically he should've graduated last year, but he's taking his sweet time finishing up his undergrad degree. The last time I checked, he was planning to graduate this year – one year late, but knowing Emmett he'll possibly try to delay again by deciding to go for another minor in anthropology or sociology.

"I take great offense at that statement. I've never failed any of my classes. I just choose not to make my life a living hell. Why graduate when I'm perfectly happy being a student?" he states before I hear a slurping sound.

"Whatever. I'm busy. What do you want?" I lean against the wall and slide down onto the grayish carpet.

"I think you need a break. You sound way too tense. I got an invite to some show at an art gallery tonight with an open bar. I put both of our names on the guest list. So I'm calling to inform you that you, my dear friend, are going out tonight."

"I can't. I've to study," I answer, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers.

"No way. You're not wiggling yourself out of this one. You're going. Pick me up at 7." Before I can tell him 'fat chance,' the idiot actually hangs up on me.

I make it back to my carrel in the library and fall asleep. When I wake up, my arm is asleep and is seriously prickling. I get up and walk back to my studio. It's five in the afternoon, which means I've slept for three hours. I still feel drained and tired though. I'm contemplating turning off my phone and crawling into bed. But there is nothing to eat in my fridge, and I know I'll never hear the end of it if I stand Emmett up tonight, so I decide it's best just to go.

I take a quick shower, get dressed, and take the train down to Morningside campus. I'm assaulted by the strong smell of pot mixed with incense when I walk into Emmett's suite.

"Yo, Eddie, my man," he greets me. I cringe and cough. "I'm so glad you made it." He's wearing sandals and a t-shirt with holes in it.

"Hey."

"Do you want a beer before we get going?" He walks over to the fridge and pulls out two bottles, not waiting for my response. "You look whiter than usual, man. You really should go into the sun once in a while. Chicks dig a nice tan."

"Yeah, whatever," I mouth, taking the beer from his hand.

"Don't even pretend like you don't care," he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. I chuck the beer back quickly. I can't wait to get out of the place; the stench is killing me. "But lucky for you, there'll be lots of chicks at this place tonight and most of the dudes will hopefully be gay, which should leave us with plenty of options."

"Emmett, I don't care. For your 411, I only came because there was no food in my fridge. Let's get something to eat before we hit that stupid show."

"I don't get you. Seriously," he huffs. "You know there's more to life than studying and work, right? Why the rush to become a perfect little worker bee with a house in burbs, sex every Saturday in the missionary position, and 2.5 kids?"

I roll my eyes at his lame joke. "I venture to say if you continue down your path of taking it easy, you'll have to settle for this shit before I do," I remark.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm not the one stuck taking unchallenging undergrad classes to ogle freshman ass all semester long. I actually have a career plan, which doesn't include settling for mediocrity in middleclass hell."

"Oh, fuck you bro. You're such an elitist asshole. Get over yourself. And do check the mirror occasionally. I don't see that little picture I just painted for you in _my_ future – that's fo sho. But you my friend … you're a different story. Just look at yourself!" He huffs in anger.

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You look fucking constipated. Your mommy is loaded, which means you could take all the time in the world with this shit, yet you feel the need to be an eager beaver and graduate early. Every year that passes you look a little bit tighter. And don't even get me stared on the women you date. At least Lauren had a nice rack and Jane was a feisty little minx, but Angela? Come on! You need to relax and stop squeezing your ass cheeks together."

"What was your problem with Angela?" I ask, annoyed at his tirade and regretting my earlier remark. "She was pretty and actually nice, which is more than I can say about the girls you date. Not that I've met any of them recently."

"Nice and booooring!" he exclaims. "I mean you used to be kinda cool. Five years ago you wouldn't have dated that girl. And you don't meet the girls I hang out with, because you barely ever leave that hellhole you live and work in."

I guess he's got me there; on both counts.

We walk down Amsterdam to the nearest pizzeria. Emmett orders a whole pie and proceeds to stuff slice after slice into his mouth. We hop onto the subway and take the train downtown. My mind keeps on wondering back to the antereolateral system _…the primary sensory cell body allowing you to sense temperature, touch, and pain is located in the Dorsal root ganglion_, I recite internally while Emmett talks about some girl who's moved into his suite and her perfect boobs. I try to blank him out, but he shuts up when some older lady shakes her head. Emmett is not lacking in the self-confidence department and is naturally missing the capacity to feel embarrassed, so the fact that this woman shuts him up with the shake of her head and one raised eyebrow is kind of amusing to me.

We get off at 18th Street and walk further west. Emmett continues to chatter about girls, his classes, and how he wishes he could stay another year in school to fully appreciate what college has to offer. I want to tell him that surely after five years, various semesters abroad, and countless mediocre classes he's had enough, but I hold back. I nod, but only listen half-heartedly. I almost feel bad; he's a nice guy actually aside from the fact that he changes girls like underwear and smokes so much grass that I worry about his brain cell count.

We come to a halt in front of a door next to a big glass window. Emmett gives the guy who is, standing at the door our names and we shuffle inside. It's pretty crowded already. People are standing around in groups, chatting and sipping drinks.

"I'm gonna grab us some beer," Emmett shouts and runs off toward the back of the room. I look around and find some flyer for the show. Most of the works on display are color photos of skeletal girls in asymmetrical dresses posing at odd angles.

My eyes scan the thick glossy promo flyer, which reads _Contemporary Fashion Photography_ in big black letters. I look around and see stylish girls surrounded by boys who care a touch too much about their appearance. Emmett is correct in his assessment that the place is filled with attractive women and possibly mostly gay men. I'm not certain the numbers in this equation will help him though; I've the feeling the girls wearing designer ensembles will not necessarily buy his spiel or his look for that matter.

"Let's check out the meat," Emmett announces with a wide grin on his face, handing me a bottle of Heineken. I humor him and smirk. I could care less. We walk around the room for a while, but none of the girls that Emmett tries to talk to humor him for more than a second; they're not impressed.

"So who got you on the invite list for this?" I ask, chuckling because Emmett is clearly out of his element in this scene. Not that I fit in here, I notice as I glance at my reflection in the mirrored wall to my right. My too clean and too tight jeans, button down shirt and windbreaker make me shrink away from my own image. Even my hair looks flat.

"Actually, your sister," he answers giving me an impish grin.

"Alice?"

"Dude, do you have another sister I don't know about? Yeah, of course Alice. I ran into her at some bar in the East Village and she hooked me up with this invite. She said she's tried to invite you to these things, but you never show up."

"Is she going to be here?" My sister is becoming more and more exhausting to be around.

She talks a mile a minute about stuff I don't care about. Listening to her is like listening to one of those people that call themselves journalists, even though all they write about is which actor is banging his current co-star, which celebrity may be gay and what beauty regime is the latest trend. _Who gives a shit?_

"No, she said she was going to be busy. She did mention that you might know one of the photographers who's showing here today."

"I highly doubt it," I respond and shrug my shoulders. Alice sometimes drags me to events she organizes, but I usually leave after one drink, and I hardly ever remember any of the vapid people she introduces me to in passing, while blowing air kisses at them.

Emmett and I sit down on some sofa near the bar area in the back. I put my feet up on the table in front of us and look at the flyer again to see whether I recognize any of the names.

"Check out the brunette over there, Eddie. She's cute and she's looking in our direction. I think she's checking me out." He pokes me with his elbow. My eyes get caught on a name – Tanya Denali. I've seen that name before, but I can't put a face to it or remember where I'd know it from. "I think I might go talk to her. Definitely a nice ass."

"Which one?" I ask to humor him, glancing up.

"That one." He points with his beer bottle casually to the left. Tanya Denali, her roommate – Bella's roommate – my brain finally registers. My mouth goes dry and I stare. Bella is standing a couple of feet away in a strapless mini-dress talking to a group of people. She's laughing and tosses her loose curls over her shoulder.

"She's hot," Emmett mouths and makes some obscene clacking sound with his tongue. "I'm gonna go talk to her." He's about to get up, but I manage to pull him back by his shirt.

"No," I seethe.

"No? You're kidding, right? What's wrong with you?" Emmett complains.

"I know her." To my relief he sinks back into the blush sofa pillow next to me.

"Where from? Don't tell me the girl goes to med school. I'll definitely come visit you more often if that's the case. I'd let her play doctor with me …"

"No. Shut up!" I rub my hand over my face.

"Why are you so testy?"

"Just don't, okay?" I implore. Emmett's eyes start darting between Bella and me until something dawns on him. He laughs and looks at me with a curious expression on his face. "You _know_ her, know her, right?" He winks and I roll my eyes at him.

"None of your business. Just don't go over and talk to her."

"Judging by the looks of her, she's not one of your recent flings … no, definitely cannot be a med student," he states, squinting his eyes at me. "Ha! I got it. It's the girl that broke your heart the summer before college. What was her name again?"

"Bella," I whisper, staring intently at the label of my beer bottle. "Fucking Alice!"

"I'm lost." Emmett furrows his brows in confusion. "What's Alice got to do with it?"

"One of the photographers was Bella's roommate. I'm pretty certain Alice knew that."

"Whatever. Be happy. See this as an opportunity. It's been like what – five years? Why don't you go over and talk to her? She was definitely looking in our direction. Who knows, she probably recognized you."

"Not a good idea." I shake my head. "I'm getting out of here." I look ahead to plan my exit strategy. I can't get out of this place without directly having to walk through the door where Bella is now standing chatting with some guy wearing hideous black-rimmed glasses and a striped sweater.

I decide it's best to stay put until she moves.

Some tall attractive blonde comes over and miraculously starts talking to Emmett. I groan inwardly as I listen to their banter. I was wrong. He's managed to find a girl gullible enough to fall for his grin and jokes. I get up and walk to the bar partially to get away from their foreplay and also because I need a stiff drink before running out of here.

"What can I get for you, Sir?" one of guys dressed in black standing behind the bar politely asks.

"Whiskey soda, please."

He turns around and grabs a bottle of whiskey before his eyes scan the bar area. "Charlotte, we're out of clean glasses. Be a doll and hand me some from the dishwasher over there. They should be clean. Then go to the back and get another box."

Suddenly I'm getting nervous waiting in front of the bar. I hear heels approaching from behind me.

A mousy little girl – Charlotte, I assume – pulls out a whole rack of glasses from a dishwasher and walks toward the bartender. The last thing I remember is Charlotte slipping and falling.

When I wake up, I feel sick; bile is rising from my stomach. Someone's stroking my hair and caressing my cheek. I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the light. My vision is fuzzy. I see brown hair and a pale face with light freckles. I shut my eyes and swallow, trying to push the contents of my stomach down. The one person I don't want to see me like _this_ has apparently come to my aid.

"Hey, are you okay?" I hear Bella ask. I open my eyes again. I see her clearly this time. I try to push myself up on my arms, but they give in. I feel dizzy and nauseous. "Are you going to be sick?" She looks at me with concern. "Tanya, push the bucket from over there to me. Quickly!"

I see high-heeled sandals approaching, kicking a bucket with a mop still in it. I know I won't be able to make it to the restroom or the sink behind the bar. I don't even care at this point. I lean over the black plastic rim and throw up, cold sweat running down my temples. Someone is rubbing my back.

The residual stench of the industrial floor cleaner mixed with the sour smell of vomit emanating from the bucket burns my throat as I inhale and exhale deeply. When I'm done, I feel physically better. Nausea is replaced by embarrassment.

"Are you okay?" I hear her voice again.

I nod. Bella moves in front of me, pushes the bucket away and hands me a wet paper towel. "Are you sure? You just sort of fainted for minute or two. I think they called an ambulance."

"It's not necessary," I say, mortified now. I make an attempt to push myself up to stand. Bella reaches her hand up my arm and helps me. I'm standing on wobbly legs.

"Don't worry. Charlotte definitely needs one. She cut her hands pretty badly."

"I need to get out of here." I realize that the girl with the bleeding hands probably triggered this episode, and I'm gripped by fear. I stumble forward. Bella pulls my arm over her shoulder for support. I'm so weak that I let her.

"Fresh air's probably a good idea," she mumbles. Some girl hands her a bag as we walk out the door. "Wait here." She leaves me leaning with my back against the cold concrete wall of the building, and I watch her step into the street, whistling loudly on two fingers. A yellow cab comes to stop at the curb.

Bella walks back over to me and pulls me off the wall. "Come on, I'll get you home."

"I should wait for my friend," I argue meekly. I want to push her away, but then I see the ambulance turning around the corner and follow her to the door of the cab without further argument.

"The tall guy with brown curly hair?"

I nod.

"I tell you what, I'll text my friend and tell her to let him know that you're on your way home."

I don't argue and move to sit in the car, closing the door behind me, figuring she's done enough by hailing a cab for me. She slides in through the other door though and sits down next to me.

"Where do you live, Edward?"

I give the driver my address before sagging back into the seat, leaning my head against the cold window. Better to pretend she's not sitting next to me, I figure. Maybe then I can somehow make myself believe that this whole thing didn't happen.

"Here." I feel something cold pressing against my fingers. "Tanya grabbed this from the bar for you. It might make you feel better."

I look down at my hand and see her holding out a can of ginger ale to me. The taste in my mouth is gross, but I want to go back to closing my eyes and pretending none of this really happened; that she didn't see me faint, puke my guts out, and stumble out the door. But her presence in the car is irrefutable. She has that pretty girl smell around her: sweet and enticing.

She leaves the can sitting on the seat next to my hand. We don't talk. I open my eyes for a second as the car speeds up the West Side highway to the Henry Hudson. I close my eyes again. I blink for a second when the cab passes the 125th Street exit. I'm almost back at my place, and I feel relieved.

When the cab exits the highway I open my eyes. I instruct the driver to drop me off at the corner of my block. I don't dare to glance in her direction.

I pull a crumbled up twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket and I'm about to hand it to the driver when she sighs loudly.

"It's okay … you don't have to," she says, hesitantly reaching out her hand to push my arm back down.

My head snaps into her direction. She frowns at me. Her eyes look sad and her face is flushed. I drop the bill onto the seat and open the door to flee, but Bella grabs my wrist. Her cool fingers encircle my burning skin. I easily could pull my arm away and run.

"Edward," I hear her say my name and it stops me dead in my tracks. "I'm sure you could care less whether you hear this or not at this point, but I'm sorry, okay?"

I want to yell at her, tell her that she's said that already – _sorry_. Tell her to shut up! It only makes me feel worse. _Sorry, I slept with you. Sorry, I would've never touched you had I known …_

My one foot is already firmly planted on the asphalt near the car. I stare at her for a second. She's leaning forward on her left arm while her right hand holds onto my wrist. She looks beautiful with her exposed skin and her breasts squished together by purple satin. I free my arm and step out of the car. She moves over to the window.

"If you feel dizzy or anything when you get up to your place, please call someone to watch you. I tried to break your fall, but I think your head banged against the bar pretty hard. You might have a concussion… I guess you'd know that … med school and all…" She rolls her eyes and I slam the door shut.

I walk down the street to my building. The wind blowing in my direction suddenly feels ice blistering cold. It's not summer yet. I still have some time…

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**Thanks for reading & lemme know what you think? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks, as always, to my smart betas Reamhar & KCerena. Any remaining errors are all my own doing. Kisvakondok preread to make sure this doesn't completely stink. She reminded me that some things are better when they are not spelled out. I owe her. Her story "Mating In Captivity" is infinitely better than mine. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**V. Lost in Adulthood**

_BPOV_

"Congratulations!" My lawyer shakes my hand enthusiastically, squeezing my fingers together with force as I leave his office. I step quickly into the mirrored elevator while he holds the doors for me. I don't want to look at my reflection, and turn around to face him instead. He's still smiling, standing there in his ill-fitting pinstripe suit with his receding hairline and bookworm glasses. The doors close and my fake smile disappears. I handed him his fee in form of a sizeable check, so I guess he's got something to celebrate now. Me, on the other hand … I'm not so sure.

Aside from the financial aspect of the transaction, the purchase of my first house has left me feeling a little … I don't know how to describe it … underwhelmed? I'm lacking the feeling of pride that's supposed to come with homeownership. I don't care whether I own or rent, but my accountant told me I needed a tax deduction pronto and getting a mortgage was the easiest way.

I catch a cab in front of the shiny, tall midtown office building which houses my lawyer's office and head back home. Traffic is a disaster and my driver is clueless. I try to help him by pointing out possible alternative routes, but he barely speaks English. When we're still nowhere near a tunnel or a bridge a half hour later, I hand him some money, jump out of the cab and runt to the next subway station. The train's crowded, but I manage to get a seat. I stare at a kid across from me who's sucking a rainbow colored substance out of some clear plastic tube that identifies the contents as yogurt. I wonder what the stuff tastes like. When the kid finishes his yogurt, he tosses the tube on the floor where it rolls against the foot of a dark haired woman with big hoop earrings sitting next to him.

"Sam, didn't I tell you not to litter! You can't just throw your trash on the floor when you're done. Think about what the world would look like if everybody'd just drop garbage where they're standing," she chides the kid, picking up the empty plastic container near her feet.

The kid giggles. "But mooom, you toss your cigarettes out the kitchen window. Isn't that the same thing?" the kid argues. His mom turns red and shakes her head. She starts wiping his little fingers down with a wet nap, ignoring his argument.

"And dad tosses his soda cans on the floor in the car all the time," the kid continues in a whiny voice. His mom is staring daggers at him now. I smile broadly. I like the kid. He must be about six years old with dark locks and chubby cheeks. He's wearing a t-shirt with Big Bird on it.

"That's not the same, Sam. Nobody but daddy has to drive in that car. But other people have to ride this train and you shouldn't leave it like this for them," she lectures the kid, who is frowning now.

Sam and his mom get off at the same stop I do. As I see them walking side by side, her hand holding onto his small one securely as he stumbles along, I'm thinking I'd like a kid; maybe not now but one day.

I'm so lost in thought about how I'd dress my imaginary kid and what stories I'd read to him at bedtime that I almost run into them when they come to an abrupt stop near the exit stairs. Before I can step away, the kid hurls the contents of his stomach right onto the floor in front of him. White, blue, yellow and red regurgitated yogurt splatters my shoes. I swallow hard, hold my breath and step around them briskly to run up the stairs. Maybe later, rather than sooner, I think.

I see Kate, Tanya, and Jasper sitting on my stoop waiting to help with my move as I walk up my block. I told them I'd hire a company for the move, but they insisted on coming along to help. I know I should be happy that I've friends who volunteer to spend a day schlepping my stuff around, but I'm feeling a bit blue and all I really want to do is crawl back into bed and pretend that last night didn't happen.

My shitty mood cannot be blamed on the closing this morning or my impending move. No, it's all because I've officially resigned myself to the fact that Edward might actually be kind of an asshole. And he's so not into me. Another illusion destroyed. I should add him to my list of men who don't want to talk to me or see my face anymore. Last night he acted like he might catch some sort of contagious disease by saying so much as 'hi' to me. There's no time to wallow, and why do I even care? It's not like I ever really knew him.

There's not much I'm taking with me. I've sold all my old crap and ordered some new basics, like a bed, a couch, and a TV. Everything else can wait. I was never the decorating type, which makes this purchase even more suspect. What am I going to do with all this space now? All that's left to move are my clothes, my books, and some knickknacks I'm attached to; it's boxed up and ready to go.

I plaster a smile on my face, as I'm getting closer to my house, despite the feeling of disappointment that's lingering.

"Hey. Thanks for coming," I say, as I hug Tanya and then Kate.

"I can't believe you bought your own house!" Kate squeals. "Imagine the space you're going to have…the parties you can throw... I'm so excited for you, Bells."

"I dunno about parties," I murmur, but smirk; I should really throw one now that I no longer live in a shoebox-sized apartment. "We'll see, I guess."

We drink coffee upstairs before loading the U-Haul truck Jasper has rented and driving it three blocks down to my new home. We're all a bit in awe when I first open the door and check out the inside. It's a three-story brownstone and I have it all to myself.

"I love it! You're so hosting my birthday party this year," Tanya announces as she steps into my living room. Kate and Tanya oh and ah every five minutes and congratulate me, while Jasper stands on the sidelines and eyes us oddly.

Delivery people soon start arriving, dropping off the minimal furniture and appliances I ordered. Kate immediately proceeds to flirt with the guy who's installing my cable, and the minute Tanya decides she's done enough, she sits down on the kitchen counter with a copy of "W" on her lap, popping open a bottle of beer.

I carry the rest of the boxes into my hallway with Jasper's help. We don't exchange more than a few words and I say most of them. He keeps quiet, frowning and looking annoyed. I tolerate his mood for a while, but eventually I have enough of his clipped responses. It's almost as if he's moping about something. I can't figure out why he's acting this way, but I have the distinct feeling it's something I did or didn't do. I decide it's best to confront it head on and I call him out on it.

"So what's wrong?" He's about to close the truck and head back to the rental place.

"Nothin'," he answers, his face hardening.

"What do you mean nothing? You've barely said three words in the last hour. Hello, you haven't even congratulated me on my new home!" I bitch.

"It's nothing, really. I just…" He rolls his eyes and huffs. "I can't believe you bought a house by yourself … not even an apartment … no, it had to be a whole house! You didn't even tell me about this-"

"Yeah, I did. I told you I was looking to buy something," I interrupt. "What's your problem? I don't see why that should upset you."

"I …" He pulls his hair back and wrinkles his forehead while struggling to come up with an explanation. "You made me move out, Bella! Fucking not even two months before you buy a whole house! I'm your friend. You could've maybe asked me if I was interested in buying something together… or … I don't know. Either way, there was no need for me to move out. Now what? You're going to live in his house all by yourself?" He stands there staring at me defiantly in the middle of the sidewalk, with his arms crossed over his chest. I'm losing patience with his antics.

"Are you crazy? Did you just listen to yourself? Why would I buy a house with you? If you really wanted to, you could buy your own place. Are you seriously moping because I bought a place without consulting you? And yeah, you needed to move out. I need my space."

I stare at him in anger, and out of nowhere, his face relaxes and he shrugs his shoulders.

"You're right. I'm an idiot. Forget I said anything." Jasper hugs me briefly and starts walking backwards to the truck facing me. "I'm gonna drop the truck off and then head back to the office. Got some stuff that needs to get done today. Is Charlie coming over later?"

I'm a little stunned by his sudden mood shift. I narrow my eyes and glance at him suspiciously. Something is going on with him, but I can't put my finger on what it is.

"I don't get you, Jas. Are you PMSing or what? Seriously, make up your mind and decide what mood you wanna be in."

He shrugs his shoulders and chuckles. "Forget I said anything. Say hi to your dad for me if he swings by."

"Sure. I'll tell him. Charlie's coming by tomorrow to watch football on the monstrosity of a TV I ordered. He's working today."

"46 inches is just the right size, Bells. I think I'll drop by tomorrow then, if it's alright with you." I honestly don't want Jasper to come by, but feel mean saying so.

"Sure," I answer as I wave him goodbye.

Jasper's behavior is becoming ever more bizarre each time I see him. He acts like a maladjusted, grumpy teenager and I don't know how to handle it. In some ways our roles have been reversed.

Jasper used to be this levelheaded, calm, and collected guy, an ace at crisis management if ever there was one. I'll never forget the day he saved me from certain arrest and a DUI charge. We were seventeen and spent the weekend at some friend's house on the beach in Long Island. I got into a huge fight with my then boyfriend after I found him making out with another girl. Like any irrational teenager whose heart had just been broken, I first threw a complete hissy fit and drank a bottle of bad champagne while crying like a baby before proceeding to do the stupidest thing ever: jump into a car and drive off thoroughly intoxicated. Jasper got into the car with me, and as my luck would have it, we got pulled over by the cops shortly thereafter.

I don't remember how he did it, but somehow Jasper managed to get into the driver's seat after I'd stopped the car. Before the cop could reach our window, Jasper had pulled out his driver's license, insurance card, and registration and told me to pretend to be asleep. Jasper wasn't entirely sober either, but for some reason he managed to pull it together and sweet-talked the cop into letting him go without so much as a Breathalyzer test. After the cop let us go with a warning to stay within the speed limit, we left the highway at the next exit, drove down into the woods, and slept until the next morning.

That Jasper has been replaced by someone who's extremely moody almost all the time and snaps at you for the most irrational reasons. All our interactions lately feel like work, work I actually don't want to do. We constantly argue about the smallest shit. It's as if we're an old married couple, but hell, we've never even dated.

I walk back inside right as the cable guy exits. I sit on a box of appliances in the kitchen where Tanya and Kate are busy getting pleasantly sloshed.

"Anything else we should help you with?" Tanya asks, handing me a bottle of beer before sitting down next to me.

"Nope. All done." I sigh and look at the stainless steel appliances in my brand-spanking-new kitchen. It doesn't feel like my place. It's too big and too fancy even though it's bare.

"You should really get some furniture. Feels kind of empty in here, not really like a home," Kate comments, pushing another box with her feet into the room before plopping down on it.

"Yeah, I will. The season of this show I'm working on wraps up next week and after that I have some breathing room. I'll get it done."

"You know you could hire someone to decorate this place?" Tanya suggests.

"I think I can manage. I'll order the furniture online and you could get some of our pictures framed for me – as a housewarming gift?" I laugh. "Seriously," I add, rolling my eyes, "I'm not paying anybody to do that stuff."

"I'll send you some framed photos. So, how did the date with the Orthodontist go?" Tanya asks tossing a bottle cap at Kate. "Did you finally kiss?"

"Wait, we're talking about the guy you've been on three dates with already?" I ask for clarification.

"Yeah, same guy." Kate pauses and her shoulders slouch. "No, not really. I mean he kissed me goodbye…but you know…we didn't kiss, kiss. It was really short…no tongue. To be frank, it was bad." The expression on Kate's face is a mixture of disgust and pity. Tanya and I laugh.

"Do you like him?" I ask. Kate shrugs her shoulders with a hint of indifference. "Why do you bother to go out with him then, if there's no chemistry and you don't like him that much?"

"I don't know. He's nice, I guess? He's not unattractive, he pays for dinner, and he has a job. And that's hard to find these days," Kate defends herself.

"Have we ruled out that he's gay?" Tanya asks. "If he was straight, shouldn't he have made some sort of move by now? I don't know. Orthodontist…just sounds so blah…he's fiddling around with people's mouths for a living. Move on, I say."

"I highly doubt he's gay. He keeps on talking about his ex girlfriend, like all the time, you have no idea. I feel like I know her better than I know him."

"Oh, definitely move on. He's still stuck on his ex. Don't even bother picking up the next time he calls. I've stopped going on dates. It just takes too much effort, and I haven't met a guy I liked in ages. Most of them bore me so thoroughly that I'm not even in the mood for sex after dinner," I admit.

"I hear ya. But he dated her in college. How can he not be over her? It's been like what? 6 years since he graduated? You're right though. I think I'm going to tell him I'm busy the next time he calls."

"You're kind of full of it, B. Speaking of dates, I have one tomorrow night," Tanya says with a smile, while shoving her elbow into my ribs.

"Get outa town. You're actually going to talk to a guy as opposed to pulling him into your bed and kicking him out before the sun is up?" I ask dryly, not able to hide the sarcasm in my voice. I'm also genuinely surprised by her announcement. I don't think I remember a time when Tanya had something with man that would qualify as a date. Kate is completely caught off guard too. Her mouth is hanging open and she stares at her.

"Be nice to me, B. I'm going out with the friend of your crush. I'll see whether I can get the lowdown for you on whether dear Eddie is dating these days."

I gape at her.

"Wait, what? Bella, you have a crush on someone? Why haven't I heard about it? So you _have_ met someone you like!" Kate says.

"Shut up. I don't have a crush. I just wanted to apologize to the guy, but apparently there is no way to atone for my past sins. You're going out with his big, burly friend? Why? He didn't look like he was your type. He wore sandals – doesn't that usually give you the hibigeebies? Whatever happened to your last assistant?"

"Oh, that's a low blow and you know it. I fired him and hired a girl. I told you about it, too."

I do vaguely remember some story about her firing him, but Tanya hiring a female assistant doesn't generally mean that she won't have sleep with them.

"Roberto, the cute Italian guy? You fired him?" Kate asks with an astonished expression on her face.

"Yeah, him. He somehow got the idea that because he had sex with me he could take it easy on the job. He showed up three hours late for a shoot. I couldn't charge the client for the hours, but I had to pay everyone else on the set for the period where nothing got done because his ass had decided to sleep in. So I fired him. End of story. But never mind that. You _so_ have a crush on him, Bella."

"Who?" Poor Kate looks like she's completely out of the loop at this point.

"Edward," Tanya says.

"So where did you meet this guy?" Kate asks.

"You've met him, Kate. Remember five years ago? The cute kid on the skateboard that B deflowered while we were on Fire Island?"

Recognition spreads over Kate's face and she smiles. I'm red like a tomato and want to kick them both out of my house.

"I don't think you can deflower a boy," I huff. "Besides, I'm not certain I was his first."

Tanya squints at me. "Semantics-schmantics, B. I'm pretty certain you were his first. And admit it, you like him! You practically begged me to distract his friend so that you could talk to him alone. Next thing I know, the boy is lying on the floor unconscious and you're all over him."

"Huh? Why was he unconscious?" Kate asks, confused.

"He fainted," I answer.

"Wait you ran into him someplace and he fainted when he saw you?"

I laugh and shake my head. Tanya chuckles. "No, he fainted, but not because he saw me. I don't know why actually. I ran into him before and he was fine. So no, I don't think I was reason he fainted."

"Why don't I know about any of this?" Kate pouts.

"Remember the show I invited you to last night?" Tanya asks.

"Yeah, and I told you had I had to work."

"It's fine, Kate. No guilt trip from me. Anyway, Edward came to that show with his friend. Bella wanted to talk to him, but wasn't sure how to approach him since the last time she saw him he wasn't all that happy to see her. To make a long story short, I started chatting up his friend – his name is Emmett by the way – and when Edward eventually left to get a drink, Bella followed him to the bar –"

"Where he passed out," I end the story.

"Did you guys talk after you left?" Tanya asks. "I want details!"

"Not exactly. He threw up and I took him home in a cab. I said sorry and he slammed the car door in my face. That's it. I don't think he said more than three words to me."

Kate and Tanya stay silent for a minute before they both wrinkle their foreheads. "That sounds like a total asshole move," Tanya says and Kate nods in agreement. "You took him home and he slammed the door in your face? Did he at least say thank you?"

I shrug my shoulders. I don't want to admit what a fiasco last night was. If I think about it too long, I'll get teary eyed again. I know it sounds stupid and I've no reason to cry, but the way he looked at me, so full of contempt, and the force with which he slammed the door in my face, made me wince. I'm not going to lie – his behavior kind of stung.

"I guess he's mad at me for the way I behaved back then … I don't know. But that makes me sound kind of conceited, doesn't it? Why would he be mad all these years later? Maybe he was sick?" I sigh. I really don't want to talk about it anymore.

"I'm so sorry, babe." Tanya throws her arm around my shoulder and hugs me. "How rude! You almost threw your back out to stop his fall, took care of him while he barfed, and he didn't even have the decency to say thank you?" Tanya rants. "Forget him. You can do much better."

I can't help but laugh a little at her description.

"Yeah, you totally can! Forget that dick!" Kate agrees.

I wish they were right, but I have my doubts. I haven't liked anybody in long time and I do have a bit on a crush on him. When I saw Edward sitting on that awful purple sofa yesterday my heart started fluttering and my hands got clammy. I don't think I've been this excited to see a guy since high school.

Like our encounter in the supermarket, the whole thing went down the drain the minute I attempted to talk to him. He was standing at the bar waiting for his drink when I walked up behind him. I was about to tap him on the shoulder, but then he fell straight into me. I tried to hold him up, but my reflexes were too slow and my arms not strong enough. Before I knew it, he was lying unconscious on the floor.

I guess I should've enjoyed the couple of minutes while he was out cold, since that was pretty much the only time he wasn't acting like an ass. I couldn't though. I was too worried. He looked so tired and sick, and I just wanted to make him feel better. The minute he tumbled down onto the floor, I yelled at the bartender, who was busy screaming at the girl behind the counter, to shut up and call an ambulance. Leaning over Edward's body, I frantically tried to think of anything I should do … and first aid attempts … but I had no idea what was wrong with him. He didn't appear to have had a seizure, so I tried to comfort him and to wake him up. It only lasted for a minute or two.

During the cab ride to his place I wanted to say something…anything … but he closed his eyes and so I left him alone. Judging by the look on his face when he banged the cab door in my face, I'm not sure anything I could've said would have fixed this. I think whatever that was between Edward and me all those years ago, I mucked it up so thoroughly that there's no hope for redemption.

We keep on drinking for the rest of the afternoon. I invite Tanya and Kate for dinner and flirt with our cute waiter, because I need some sort of validation that I'm still attractive after last night's rejection. They egg me on, telling me how cute he is and they're right. He has dark brown curls, a nice ass, and a charming smile. Kate, Tanya, and I drink in the bar across the street from the restaurant until his shift ends.

Instead of calling it a night when the waiter arrives, we head to a club. I know the owner of the place, Felix, and he puts us on the guest list after a quick call. It's crowded inside. A guy with boobs, a wig, but the goods attached, is performing some strange dance on a small stage. Barely anybody in the place pays attention to him.

We drink too much and Felix offers us key-bumps of cocaine in a black marble bathroom. Kate spills the vial of cocaine on the floor and Felix is pissed. We laugh watching him try to salvage the spillage with a credit card. The white powder pile sitting on the stones that seem otherwise clean is speckled with black dots of dirt and dust. Felix swears at us and Tanya pulls Kate and me out of the room leaving him behind sitting on the bathroom floor.

In the dim light of the club, most of the patrons look attractive. The waiter smiles and starts telling me he's really an actor just waiting tables until his big break, which is just around the corner. I don't want to listen to starry-eyed career ambitions. He sounds vain and naïve. To shut him up, I start making out with him. I think he's a good kisser but maybe that's because I'm drunk. I don't know how, but we make it to his place in the Lower East Side.

Even in the white fluorescent light in dirty hallway of his building the waiter is beautiful. We stumble up the stairs, taking each other's clothes off. The minute we reach his apartment, his hands are all over the place tearing the rest of my clothes off. His mouth moves to my neck, placing wet kisses along the way. He pushes his dick into my hips and grabs my ass roughly. After he finds a condom, he pins me against the wall and pushes inside of me. It's mechanical and hard and unsatisfying.

After he's done, he rolls over on to his tattered futon sofa and falls asleep. I want to fall asleep too and envy him. My nose is dripping, my mouth is dry and my heart is beating so insanely fast that it scares me. When I notice the black sky turning purple outside, I get up.

Collecting my clothes, I stumble over empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and coke cans. Miraculously I find most of my clothes aside from my shirt. I grab an old t-shirt that's hanging in the bathroom. I brush my teeth with my fingers to get the taste of booze out of my mouth. To make my disastrous night complete, after sitting on the toilet to pee I discover there's no toilet paper.

My phone rings and I swear under my breath picking it up.

"Yes?"

"Bella, are you okay?" Tanya asks.

"I'm fine. Heading home now."

"Did you bag him?" I hear laughter.

"Yeah, but I can't remember why. It was bad."

"Sorry. He was a bad lay?"

"I think it's me. I can't do this anymore."

I sneak out of the apartment and grab a cab outside. When I reach the front door of my new home, the sun is raising. I step into the entryway, secure all the locks behind me and take a long shower, trying to wash away the night. Crawling into my new bed still drunk, I feel too tired and old for this game.

The next day brings with it grey skies and cold winds, which works dandy with my hangover. Sunshine would kill me. I get up, make coffee, and get to work. I find my groove, despite the massive headache, and get stuff done. Kate comes by later on with a pizza for a hangover feast. At least I like my work and I have the best friends a single girl could wish for.

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**Thank you very much for reading & reviews are better than sunshine. Really, if you are reading, please do consider leaving some words of wisdom or encouragement. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Many thanks to my betas Reamhar & KCerena. So there'll be some B&E interaction in this chapter. This might suck b/c I was Kisvakondok less this week.**

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**VI. Reprieve**

_EPOV_

_June 2010_

I'm taking my first board exam tomorrow and after that I'm done studying for the semester. I should feel relieved, and I do, to a certain extend. I won't have to memorize and regurgitate information for some time, and while I wouldn't go so far as to qualify my current state as content, I'm not the wreck I was a month ago. The nightmares have become less frequent and I've managed to block out thoughts of my impending doom, allowing me to focus on cramming.

If I had to pinpoint the moment in time when things improved, I'd say right after the night I slammed the car door in Bella's face. It worked as a catalyst of sorts, firing a much-needed dose of dopamine into my system.

As I walked away from the car, my heart rate accelerated and I at long last felt something other than panic. At the risk of sounding like a pussy, the woman, ripped my heart out when she ran away. So ignoring her and walking off without saying goodbye, never mind a 'thank you' felt good. I acted like a dick, but it was exhilarating for a minute or two.

Once my initial bout of rage evaporated, I debated why this woman still had such a strong effect on me without coming to any satisfying conclusion. So I figured I owed it to myself to solve the mystery once and for all, and for that I needed to contact her.

Easier said than done, it turns out. Despite incessant cyber stalking on my part, which provided me with lots of information about her personal life and career, I'm yet to find her phone number. I'm not sure what exactly I expected to find, but what I did dig up during study breaks doesn't exactly make me like her.

A simple Google search revealed that Ms. Swan parties a lot, preferably wearing designer clothes worth mentioning by name, has dated a fair number of men, and is currently working on a project filming in New York. The bulk of sites that popped up had links to pictures of Bella taken at different social events – the kind that Alice gets invites to and I abhor attending. While I knew about her success before, I didn't know that in the process she'd become someone who hangs out at industry shindigs, sipping champagne and rubbing elbows with half the people featured in gossip rags.

Some of the older pictures were taken right around a time when she dated some actor, who inconveniently appears right next to her with an arm around her shoulder or waist in most of them. The pictures irked me, and it was more than the pang of jealousy I felt when I saw her with different men in others. Somehow knowing that she'd dated some overpaid pretty boy who starred in bad action flicks made her seem superficial, and it knocked her down a peg in my book.

From what I can gather, dear Ms. Swan may be nothing more than a phony who tumbles from bed to bed without forming emotional attachments. I realize that I base this assumption on nothing more than pictures and conjectures. But then again, pictures don't lie and there is usually an ounce of truth to most fabricated stories. I'm having difficulty finding her with the same guy more than a few times in most photos.

Yet, I need to find out for certain who she is. I need to _know_ to get over my fixation with her, kick her off the pedestal I've had her on for all these years. I'm also itching to find out whether having sex with her now would live up to my memories, or whether it would fall short and feel trite in comparison.

Confirming that the girl I have had a crush on for all those years is nothing more than a shallow, self-absorbed go-getter won't make any of my other problems go away – I know that. But it would surely be a good distraction, even a fun one, once the chance gives way to hooking up.

The trick will be to get in touch with her. An address search through the White Pages came up blank. So, I swiftly ordered the info from one of those search companies that bait the unsuspecting browser with online ads offering you all publicly available information on any given person for a whopping $40, including a criminal background check. Unfortunately this still didn't give me much. All I got were records for a few speeding tickets and her last address in L.A. Her telephone number was unlisted.

A week ago, I resorted to calling up Alice, thinking that she might have some further clues on how to get her number since she pretty much knows everybody of importance in this town. I don't know why I'd surmised she'd be of any help to _me_. She hung up on me before I could ask her how she was doing. Never one to give up easily, I went to her office in Soho. Persistence had always paid off for me, though in this case it got me nothing but aggravation.

Alice, ever the busybody, kept me waiting in her office while she yakked away on the phone for what seemed like forever and a day. I spent most of the time sifting through copies of glossy magazines, eventually stumbling upon a GQ with Alec Bright, the actor Bella dated, on the cover.

"You know he dated Bella," Alice said, motioning to the magazine in my hands and dropping the headset for her phone on the glass desk with clank.

"Yeah?" Excellent intro, I thought.

"Well, he's probably gay. I'll bet their agents arranged their relationship – she's cute, but not _that_ cute. I don't see any other reason why he would have dated her."

"I ran into her."

"You did what? Where at?"

The expression on Alice's face was blank but for the twitch around the left side of her mouth that she gets whenever she's particularly aggravated by something. I leaned back in her avant-garde and uncomfortable office chair, searching her face for signs that she was bullshitting me with her questions.

"Come on. Don't play dumb," I said, unable to come to a conclusion. I waited for a response, but she offered nothing. "You put Em on the guest list for her old roommate's show to make sure I'd run into her. I just wonder why?"

"I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Alice, seriously? Does the name Tanya Denali ring any bells?" I stared at my sister, tiny and fragile, her appearance's deceptively innocent.

"Yeah, of course it does. I know which show you're talking about now. We didn't get along particularly well. I honestly didn't think Bella would be there. I mean, it was a small, unimportant show and your dear crush is way famous these days. At least that's what I thought. But I guess I was wrong. Maybe she's not that busy anymore. You know how fickle Hollywood can be." She looked at me like I was intimately acquainted with all things showbiz, before continuing with a huff, "Is that why you're here? To interrogate me about her?" Alice shook her head in disapproval.

"Alice, she was at the show because she moved back to New York. Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"Nope. Whatever you may think of me, dear brother, I'm not that heartless. I wouldn't have purposefully sent you to a place to give that woman another shot at molesting you. Besides, I didn't know Emmett would go or that he'd manage to drag you along out of all people. Don't tell me you're still not over her?"

"Since when are you so concerned for my wellbeing? The last time I checked, you only call me when you want something," I fleeringly remarked. She didn't miss the hint and narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, and by the way – your ex is in town too. I'm assuming you don't care and are so way past it. I thought I'd mention it anyway. I've only seen him once though, so maybe he was just visiting Bella," I added. Alice's posture stiffened minutely at the mention of Jasper.

"Please, she can keep her lapdog. I only dated him because I thought his family connections could be useful. And it was fucking five years ago. Who cares?" She was trying hard to sound nonchalant, but all I heard was bitterness.

"Family connections? For what?" I raised one eyebrow at her, curious as to what she'd come up with.

"Oh, aren't you so sweet and clueless? Jasper's family is a great mix of old and new money. His mom hosts a lot of important charity events. They even have their own PR guy. With a bit of luck, I'd have at least gotten a decent shot at taking over his account."

She slants her eyes at me briefly before starting to hammer away on the keys of her laptop with force, ignoring my presence. She knew I'd revealed all the information I had and I knew she wouldn't be of any use to me in getting Bella's contact info. I should've gotten up and left, yet I couldn't resist one last cheap shot.

"So let me get this straight: you only dated him because you thought you'd be able to add his family to your client roster, and that's why you cried like a baby after he dumped you?"

"I'm busy. Go crawl back to your crummy apartment and proceed with your do-gooder career path. I have no time for this."

"Alice?" I said, turning around briefly before exiting her office. She didn't look up. "Do me a favor, will you? Next time you need someone to pick you up from a hospital or you need a date for some lame event, call someone else, will you?"

I went home after our little chat to study and continue my stalking mission. After a basic search on Bella's dad's name, I think I've discovered what might be his number. He might be my only way of getting in touch with her. I figure I can sell him some cockamamie story about how I'm a former classmate of hers from high school who wants to organize a class reunion and therefore needs her new contact info. I'll tell him an e-mail address will be enough. With some luck, he'd possibly give me what I'm looking for without much trouble. I'll give it a shot once the exam is over.

The exam is a killer and after eight hours, I feel drained. I'm about to head up to my apartment and order some food when I notice Emmett leaning against a car in front of my building. He's smiling broadly, the white plastic stick of a lollipop hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too." He gets up from the car and walks toward me.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. What've you been up to?"

"Not much. Well, I met someone." I get the odd feeling that I've missed some peculiar development in his life during the last month or so. "And – ta-dah – the moment you've been waiting for – I graduated."

"Congrats!"

"So, I thought we'd hang out in celebration of the occasion. Are you done with your big important exam?" He tries to poke fun at me. Every time he's attempted to call me lately, I've told him I had to study. I haven't seen him since my run in with Bella.

"Yep, just finished. So where are we going?"

"How about we kick back with some beers?" He holds up two six packs he's carrying.

"Fine."

We order some pizza, get stoned and hang out on the sofa watching bad TV in my studio. After only a short time has passed, Emmett pulls out his phone and starts texting.

"Why don't you just call?" I ask, slightly amused, after he's been hitting the buttons for ten minutes with his big lumbering fingers. "Wouldn't that be faster?"

"Sorry. It's my girlfriend. We're supposed to meet at some point tonight." He tosses the phone on the floor in frustration. Whoever this new chick is, she evidently has him by the balls.

"So where did you meet her?"

"You've met her … the night you tossed your cookies?"

I cringe. I knew Emmett would bring it up again. "The blonde?"

"Yeah…um…she's friends with Bella. Remember, you said one of the photographers was her old roommate?"

I choke on the last inhale from the pure pipe and cough.

"Are you okay, man?"

"Yep," I chocked, still coughing. "So you're dating her ex-roommate?"

"Yeah, I like her. You know, she chewed me up on our first date about the way you treated her friend that night. Did you really slam the car door in her face?" He has a pleased expression on his face.

"Yeah. I pretty much did. Was she pissed?"

"I don't know. I've only met her a few times and she didn't say anything, but judging from how pissed Tanya was, I'd say probably. Why did you do it? I get that she dumped you a while ago, but why do you still care?"

"I don't. Whatever." He eyes me suspiciously. I'm not sure how to play it, whether to pretend I don't care about Bella or whether to ask him outright for her number.

"Dude, if you don't care, why would you act like such a douche? Do you wanna know what I think?"

"Not really."

"You need to get her out of your system."

I definitely agree with him on that, but don't respond and stare at the TV instead.

"Let's get out of here." Emmett gets up suddenly and tosses a sweater at me.

"Where to?"

"Downtown."

"Why?"

"You'll owe me for this one, but we're meeting Tanya and Bella. Tanya will most likely rip me a new one for bringing you, but fuck it. Let's go."

"Okay."

"Whoa, I had no idea it would be that easy. I thought you'd give me every excuse in the book for not coming along." He chuckles.

When the cab stops in front of the crowded bar, my heart starts beating faster, and my palms get sweaty. I inhale slowly and walk behind Emmett into the crowded place until we reach an outdoor space in the back. In three quick strides, Emmett reaches a table where the blonde I recognize from the show is sitting. He kisses her on the cheek and she looks kind of miffed when she recognizes me standing behind him.

Across from her I spot Bella. She's leaning back and has her bare feet propped up on the empty chair to the side of her. I swallow once and walk over to her.

"Hey. Do you mind if I sit here?" I lean forward on the back of the chair and look down to her feet with a grin on my face, figuring it worked the first time around.

She looks up at me, but doesn't move her feet. I try to act as self-confident as standing in front of her allows me to, but my initial flirting prowess is starting to wane.

"I think that depends." She keeps her feet on the chair and gives me a quick once over, before taking another sip from the drink in her hands.

"On what?"

"Tell me, Edward, how are you feelin' today?" I narrow my eyes at her. "Slightly queasy with an urge to purge? If so, maybe check for a chair closer to the restrooms."

I can feel the blood drain from my face and grip the chair tighter.

"I think I can manage despite current company," I reply without thinking, my smile still in place.

"Ouch." The expression on her face is one of mock-outrage. She drops her feet unceremoniously on the ground and slides them into her flip-flops, before getting up to stand. "Suit yourself." She points at the chair and walks away.

This won't be as easy as I'd imagined, I realize pretty quickly. I ignore Emmett's chuckle and his date's evil glare and rush after Bella.

My eyes scan the inside of the place, but I don't see her.

"Bella?" I shout, but I don't get any response. I walk up and down the place once, twice, and run into a door that swings open out of nowhere. My forehead collides with wood and the thud reverberates in my ears. I rub my face in irritation until I hear a giggle coming from right in front of me.

"Hey."

I glance between my fingers and see her standing there, arms crossed over her chest.

"So, I realize I've been pretty rude to you and I'm sorry, okay?" I say, figuring that I need to make a good faith attempt to apologize if I want her to talk to me. I exhale loudly. "I was sort of getting over the flu the last time we met and what you did was actually really nice … and I kind of acted like -"

"An asshole?"

"Yeah, I guess that's not a completely inaccurate description." She cocks one eyebrow at me. "Okay, it's 100% accurate." I sigh and give in. "Look, can we start over again?"

"Sure. Clean slate?" The expression of her face is challenging, but not hostile.

"Yeah." I smile and extend my hand to her in a bad faith peace offering. I can't start with her at square one. She brings too much baggage with her and looking at her standing in front of me only serves to confirm that.

She takes my hand and nods.

"So, can I get you a drink?" I ask.

"Yes, please."

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

She leans against the brick wall a couple of steps away from the door that apparently leads to the restroom. I'm halfway to the bar, when I turn around. "What would you like?"

"Gin & Tonic."

When I get the drinks, she's standing in the same spot, but a guy is now standing next to her, chatting with her. Alice was wrong; she is more than cute. With her hair up in a pony tail, her face without any discernable traces of make-up, and dressed down in jeans & t-shirt, she has the quintessential appeal of the girl-next-door that every guy wants to date and bring home to his parents.

"Here." I hand her the drink and ignore the guy.

"Thanks." She smiles at me, taking the drink. A nervous laugh escapes me. Where do I start?

"So what have you been up to?" she asks, turning away from the guy. I lean against the wall next to her.

I tell her about college and med school, but leave out the stuff that would make me seem like the wuss I secretly am. I neglect to mention that I have no social life to speak of and that school isn't going as planned, per se.

"So is becoming a doctor everything you thought it would be?" she asks me after I tell her about my rotation schedule.

I shrug my shoulders. "Well, I'm not done with school yet, so …" I stall. For some reason, the easy lie won't slip out.

"Yeah, but you have some experience under your belt now, right? In a couple of years you'll be doing all the stuff you used to talk about, so you gotta have a feeling whether it's cracking up to be what you'd imagined, no? Are you gonna be okay seeing pain and suffering all the time, people dying right before your eyes? The blood, the guts – "

"I guess I'll figure that out next semester," I interrupt her. Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable. She has managed to find my sore spot and is poking at it annoyingly with her finger.

"You know, I really envied your conviction when we first met. I was clueless and so selfish when I was your age."

I roll my eyes, trying to deflect. "You're not _that_ much older."

"That's not what I meant. Besides, you haven't really answered the question." She shoves me lightly in the arm with her elbow.

The smile slips from my face. "I don't know whether it's what I thought it would be. But then nothing really is, so I guess I'll deal with it when I get there."

"Mmmh, maybe that's a good thing. Sometimes the unexpected turns out better than the planned." Her eyes are studying my face and I try to avoid her gaze, taking a sip from my beer. "You'll figure shit out," she says with certainty in her voice.

"How very eloquently put," I tease. She laughs. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"De nada. I know you're smart. You'll be fine, Edward."

"So what have you been up to?" I ask casually, attempting to switch topics and pretending I don't know what she's been doing for the past five years.

"Working, mostly." I raise my eyebrows at her questioningly. Obviously that's not all she's been doing.

"No longer on cooking shows, I assume."

"Yeah, no. Thank God. I'd possibly need a daily dose of Prozac to survive if I still had to work for that crazy woman." She blushes and it makes her look adorable. "No, I've sort of been getting pretty steady gigs as a screen writer." I swear she's turning a deeper shade of pink.

"That sounds great. Anything I'd know?"

We talk about her job, and much to my dismay she doesn't offer up her accomplishments freely. She seems more embarrassed by her success than anything. It's not what I'd expected, and I'm amused by her humility. Most of the people I encounter are so busy making themselves appear somehow bigger, better, and more successful than they really are.

I'm staring at her lips, realizing again how appealing I find her. I'm busy concocting plans on how to lure her out of this place, which is way too crowded for my taste, when I catch out of the corner of my eye the girl I tried to switch rotations with sauntering toward me.

"Hey, Edward. How've you been? Happy that the board exam is done with?" she asks when she reaches me, looking bright eyed. Before I can evade it, she kisses me on the cheek, and a whiff of sour breath mixed with cloying perfume dims my senses.

"Yeah, definitely happy to be done with that." I sigh in relief when she moves a step away.

"Great," she says, eagerly smiling at me. I want her to leave, but she doesn't move. Instead she fiddles with the drink in her hand, stirring the pink liquid first and then licking the sugared rim of her glass. I don't know what else to say.

The prolonged silence is starting to get awkward and before I come up with anything to add, Bella pushes herself away from the wall with a chuckle and says, "Hey, I think I'm gonna go find Tanya and split. Don't be a stranger next time you see me, okay? It was nice to catch up."

"Wait," I blurt out, before the wrong girl leaves.

"Okay." Bella stops in her tracks and furrows her eyebrows at me questioningly.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Edward?" Pink drink gal asks.

"Yeah, sorry, this is Bella," I say, pointing to Bella who smiles at her politely. I scratch my head hoping pink drink girl will introduce herself, since her name just won't come to me, but no such luck. Another uncomfortable moment of silence follows.

"Don't tell me you don't even remember my name?" She looks pissed, one arm propped on her hip and the other one holding the drink to the side.

"I'm sorry, but it's kind of been a busy semester."

"OH. MY. GOD. You are such an asshole!" I'm not sure anything I've done merits that outburst, but I'm happy when she stomps off in the wake of it. For a second or two I actually feared she'd toss the drink at me.

Bella is laughing.

"I guess that settles it: I'm an asshole. Cheers to that." I clink her glass with my bottle.

"A busy semester…that's classic. Is that the line you usually give when you can't remember a girl's name?"

I'm starting to get irritated. It's not like I'm the slut here. "I don't know her that well. We go to school together."

"Really? That seemed a little too …I don't know … intense for someone you just share a lecture hall with."

"I have no idea why she had such a meltdown. I barely know her. I'm sorry." Bella looks at me with a skeptical expression in her face, even though it's not a lie. The only time I'd talked to her was during that one dinner and a couple of times maybe in one of the study groups.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize to me and it's none of my business. Listen, I meant what I said. Don't be a stranger, but I have to get home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's one o'clock and I have a meeting tomorrow at eight, so… "

"Oh."

"Goodnight." She turns around and is about to walk away.

"Bella?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"So, I was wondering whether you'd be interested hanging out some time. We could go to the movies ..." I shrug my shoulders as if I don't really care that much about her response. "I don't have much to do during the summer. School's out -"

"So I'd have the pleasure of entertaining you while you're not in school and therefore have nothing better to do?" she shoots back at me with a smile.

"That came out wrong. What I meant to say is, I like talking to you and if you find time in your busy schedule, whether you'd like to meet up sometime."

"Sure. Give me a call." I release a breath. Step one of mission accomplished.

"I would, except I don't have your number."

She gives me her number and I walk with her back to the table where Emmett is now busy making out with his girlfriend. I don't feel like watching and head out with Bella, pleased that I'll be able to say goodnight to her without an audience. But before I can say goodbye or anything, she hails a cab, yelling "Goodnight" for the second time.

I walk to the subway thinking it could have gone worse. At least I played it cool and got what I wanted without calling her dad. I jump on the train wondering how long I should wait before dialing her number.

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**Can I con some of you into reviewing by offering a teaser for the next chapter to anyone who clicks on the "review" link below? **


	7. Chapter 7

**Many Thanks – as always – to my super smart betas Reamhar & KCerena. Lucky for me Kisvakondok has survived her exams and was able to take a look. Please go check out her story **_**Mating in Captivity**_** and leave her some love. She really needs to continue writing it.**

**I also want to thank VampiresHaveLaws – for rec-ing my story! I totally owe you. Lemme know how I can repay? If you'd live in NYC I'd take you out for a stiff drink.**

**For the all the recent reviewers – I was going to send you teasers, but I figured an update would be better. I'll respond to all of you – I promise. **

**Distance between Bryant Park and Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn****: 6.2 miles. **

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**VII. The Dilemma**

BPOV

My phone is ringing. I don't recognize the number flashing on its screen and I'm not sure I want to answer it. Since I started ignoring Jasper's phone calls a couple of weeks ago, he's taken to calling me from unfamiliar numbers or blocked ones. When I pick up and discover it's him, he always comes up with some trivial reason for calling and though we talk I'm always left with the feeling that something is being left unsaid. I haven't called him out on calling me from strange numbers. I'm not in the mood for another odd Jasper conversation, but I'm expecting a call from a co-writer, so I decide it's best to pick up.

"Hey."

"Bella?" I recognize Edward's voice, low and melodic; I'm nervous and stunned he's calling.

"Yeah."

"Hey. It's Edward. How are you?"

"Oh, hi. I'm fine … busy mostly."

"Are you busy tonight?"

I don't know how to answer his question. I'm also not sure it's a good idea for us to hang out, period. It seemed rude saying that to him two nights ago when we met at the bar and now I feel trapped, like I have to hang out with him to prove that I can be friends with him.

"Well, I don't know about tonight …" I hear a sigh on the other end and immediately I feel guilty. "Why? What did you wanna do?" I hear myself say the words without ever meaning to; I'm that much of a sucker for going on guilt trips.

"I was thinking about grabbing a blanket and heading down to Bryant Park to see Goldfinger. I was sort of hoping I might convince you to join me, but I guess not." His invite feels like a set-up, making me cringe.

"Soooo?" he asks when I don't answer immediately.

"Okay," I relent.

"That's a yes?"

"Yeah. Where do you want to meet?"

I hang up the phone a minute later, lamenting I agreed to it. I don't want to fall into his trap. I don't want to end up like the cute Asian girl who batted her eyelashes at him sweetly only to find out that he couldn't even remember her name. I'm not suggesting he's a man-whore or anything, but the overall carelessness with which he handled that encounter doesn't sit right with me.

I swore to myself after the incident with the waiter that I'm done falling into bed with guys who don't care whether I live or die once I leave their apartments. One-night-stands were never truly my cup of tea to begin with and Edward is the last person I need this to happen with _again_. Regardless of what Tanya told me about how he came to our place after that night, I kind of got the distinct feeling that that boy doesn't exist anymore and that the man he's become is someone to be wary of.

What makes my decision to remain friends with him infinitesimally harder is that I like this current version of Edward better despite the fact that his words sting and he seems less enthused about life. My attraction's not altogether strange or novel. It possibly falls squarely into the clichéd category of nice girls falling for assholes, except that it has never happened to me before. I feel stupid for being so attracted to him.

Edward's more confident now, wiser, less full of youthful earnest. His voice has a touch of melancholy when he delivers his sometimes cynical musings and without the hint of mom's laundry detergent on his clothes, his natural smell is almost accentuated and better. He has edges and nuances he didn't have before, flaws that come with growing up. Older Edward is alluring. The fact that he's obviously smart and soon to be a doctor makes him a deadly combination of looks, brains and future income potential that half the female population in this town is salivating for. He's quite a catch and judging from the way he acts, he knows it.

If he walks away from me if I sleep with him, I know I'll be the the ttheone who is seriously screwed. And I'm certain it'd be him who does the walking this time. Just two months ago I wouldn't have cared and would have slept with him anyway. Now I think I deserve better. I want a real relationship. Someone who calls me to ask me how I'm doing just because. Someone who wants to make love to me and not just have sex.

I shouldn't have said yes. I can't get what I want from Edward. If it were any other guy, I'd just not show up or send a last minute text message telling him that I'm not coming. But I can't. He already got the impression of me once that I'm a flake and I won't give him the satisfaction.

I'm also bound to run back into him again when I hang out with Tanya and Emmett, so it's best not to avoid it this time. By the looks of Tanya and Emmett together, they are not likely to break up. The fact that Tanya has found some sort of relationship happiness before I have is making me feel inferior. I know it's not a competition, but they are hard to watch together without feeling a tad envious. They just seem perfect together without the insufferable vibe of dependency I get from Rose and her husband.

I jump into the shower, imbibe a glass of liquid courage, and run out of the house. Thirty minutes later I see him, sitting on a plaid blanket flipping through a newspaper right in front of me. He's got a really good spot on the rapidly crowding lawn.

"How long have you been here?" I ask, sitting down next to him and dropping the box of pizza I brought along on the middle of the blanket. "Don't you have to get here pretty early to get a spot like this?"

"Not that long ago and no, definitely not if you play it right." He smirks, like there is a hidden meaning behind 'playing it right.'

He tosses the newspaper to the side and leans back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. My eyes zero in on his flexed arms, his long fingers sprawled out on the blanket, and I'm rendered temporarily speechless. Beauty usually doesn't stun me. I'm surrounded by actors and pretty people all the time and I'm never affected.

I shift my gaze to his chest, but that doesn't help. He's wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and I can see some chest hair peeking out at the rim. I don't remember the hair from our last encounter. I'm not particularly keen on too much hair, but for some reason any hair on him reeks of sex appeal. My mind wanders into the x-rated zone as I imagine what he'd look like with the shirt off.

"Thanks for the food. May I?" I hear him say, but don't respond. I have cottonmouth and my heart is beating fast. I'm nervous. I shake my head to lose the feeling.

"No?" He looks at me, grinning in amusement. I remember his question.

"Yeah…mmmh, of course. Dig in." I feel awkward. He opens up the box and starts eating.

"So what did you have planned for tonight?" he asks. I watch his mouth as he eats and it's absurd how good he looks.

"Maybe trying to get some work done, watching TV …I dunno." I shrug my shoulders.

"Really? No places to go, people to meet?" I get the feeling he's teasing me. A suspicious smirk is playing around the corners of his mouth. He sounds like my dad's friend Billy when I tell him I don't have a boyfriend: "A pretty girl like you has to have swarms of men following her around. I don't believe you." I'm certain Billy says this to half his co-workers' daughters, even the butt-ugly ones.

"Sadly, no. I'm pretty boring lately. How about you? Would you have found a replacement if I'd said no?"

"Maybe." He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I laugh.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." I shake my head in feigned disapproval. "Way to make a girl feel special."

"There can never be a replacement for you," he jokes.

We watch the girls onscreen swoon as James runs and shoots. No small feat after sipping vodka Martinis, shaken not stirred, I think. We laugh when Pussy Galore appears. My unease disappears and I enjoy myself. When the movie is over we causally start strolling downtown, neither of us attempting to reach a subway station or hail a cab. Before I know it, we're walking through Washington Square Park.

"Hey, isn't this kind of the wrong direction for you?" I ask, laughing a little. Edward stops in his tracks and starts pulling his hand through his hair, almost dropping the blanket tucked under his other arm in the process. He grabs it quickly and rights himself.

"Yeah, I kind of didn't feel like going home. But if you want to get home, I'll walk you to the subway or get you a cab." He shuffles around on his feet, glancing at me almost shyly. I don't want to go home; I want to prolong this. Talking to him is much better than going home. The average conversation gets stale after five minutes and we've been chatting animatedly about everything from politics to favorite spots to sit and people watch without anything falling flat. The only subject we don't touch is the night we spent together.

"No hurry. Do you want to just keep on walking?" I suggest.

"Sure."

And so we do. When we reach the Brooklyn Bridge, I look at him for a second. He doesn't hesitate and we walk across the bridge debating which James Bond actor we prefer. Strolling down my block, something is dawning on me. This feels too good to be real, like he's been planning this, and the mere possibility scares me. The movie, the walk …it's too perfect, too romantic for this to be a night out with a friend. He's probably already calculated his chances of me sending him home all the way uptown at this hour of the night. It's nothing if not nicely played.

"You know it's going to be a hike for you to get home now," I say, pretending to stifle a yawn, while my heart is beating a mile a minute.

"Yeah." He chuckles and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. I feel like I'm twenty-three again and he's seventeen. Tension hangs thick in the air and I'm about to break it by saying goodnight and sending him away.

I hesitate for a moment, panicking and not saying a word when he bends down and kisses me. The kiss is sweet and our lips barely touch before he pulls away. His hands remain buried in the pockets of his jeans the entire time. I stare at my feet. I want to throw my arms around him and drag him back to my bedroom. One inhale of his scent, one inch closer to his body, one more look at his face and I'd be done.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles when I remain still, frozen like a statute.

"No, don't be." I look up and he looks unsure, his hand is in his hair again. I think it's an act too: the shy, insecure glances he occasionally throws my way. "Listen, I'm going to try to be honest here. I'm tempted … flattered and … ugh…you're hard to resist. You must know that," I plead. "It's just …" I debate whether I want to tell him that I like him a bit too much for my own good, always have, and I can't just fall into bed with him again.

"I get it. No worries." His face looks stern and cold in the yellow glow of the gaslight shining next to us. "Well," he sighs, "I had fun tonight. Goodnight." He's about to walk off. I grab his arm.

"Edward, please." I'm almost hurt that he could simply walk away with a shrug of his shoulders.

"What? I'm not mad at you. It's okay." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Ugh…then why do I get the feeling that this is not going to be okay?" He rolls his eyes at me, which makes me feel like I'm a silly, irrational girl that doesn't know what she wants. Like I'm making his life hell with all my talk while all he want to do is simply get laid.

"Please don't be a dick about it. I can't handle sleeping together right now, but if you want to be friends, I'm here, ready to give it a shot. Sleep on the couch if you like."

He nods and I get the feeling he only wants to leave at this point, but then he sighs loudly. "Okay, friend." He emphasizes the word friend and smiles at me. "Can I take you up on the offer of sleeping on the couch then?"

I grin at him. "Sure."

I walk him to my office on the second floor, point out the pullout sofa and show him where the sheets are. I'm about to head up the stairs to my room, when he calls my name.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's try this 'friends' thing."

I blush like a complete fool. I don't know why the thought that he wants to be friends with me gives me this warm fuzzy feeling; it really shouldn't. Thankfully it's dark in my hallway with only the faint light from my office shining through the door where he's standing. I don't think he can see my face.

"Sure. Goodnight."

"Night."

I glance at him for a second too long, he's leaning with his arm outstretched over his head in the doorframe. Somehow I find the strength to turn around and sprint to my bedroom.

I can't fall asleep for some time. I toss and turn and listen for any noise from below, wondering whether he's as tempted as I am. A couple of times I contemplate sneaking back down and into his arms, but at some point sleep comes to me, settling over me like a nice warm blanket.

~000~

I wake up the next morning feeling refreshed. I take a quick shower and head downstairs, stopping at my office door. When I don't get an answer after a light knock, I crack the door open. Edward is tangled up in sheets, still asleep.

I walk into my kitchen. After a cup of coffee from this fancy coffee maker my agent sent me as a housewarming gift, I grab a cartoon of eggs, two potatoes, butter and some bacon from the fridge. During my stint in LA I barely cooked. Memories of my last job where I spent endless hours each day in the set-kitchen arranging and doing prep work were still too fresh on my mind. The whole experience burned me out. Now I like it again, I discovered. Unfortunately I haven't had many people, aside from Charlie and Jasper, to cook for.

"Good morning." His voice startles me. I don't remember hearing him come down the stairs, yet he's standing in yesterday's clothes in the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking tired.

"Morning. Are you hungry?"

"Are you cooking?" He strolls up next to me, scratching his head and watching me drop the bacon in the pan and then beginning to whip up some hollandaise.

"Looks like it." I laugh. "Do you like Eggs Benedict?"

"Yeah, looks really good." I hand him a cup of coffee. "Sit," I instruct. "I don't perform well with people hovering."

"Perform, huh?" He chuckles, but moves away and quietly watches me move around the kitchen. I hand him his plate when I'm happy with the results and settle across from him at my otherwise empty kitchen table.

"This is really good," he says after he's almost wiped the plate clean.

"Thanks." I smile. My dad always tells me that if I would only cook for the guys I date, I'd have received several marriage proposals already.

"So where did you learn to cook?"

"In a kitchen."

"Very funny …ha, ha."

I take a sip of my coffee and watch him pick up the last piece of bacon from his plate.

"Seriously, what's the story? You learned to cook at your old job?" He bites into the bacon smiling at me.

"No." I roll my eyes. "There's no story. I learned how to cook in the same way most people do – by necessity. My mom dipped when I was six and my dad doesn't know how to boil water. I thought it was cool for a while to eat at Mickey D's three times a day, but then it got tired. So I started cooking."

"Oh," he says and nods.

"Oh, what?"

"Nothing. I just thought there'd be a happier story to it. That's all." He looks uncomfortable.

"It's not an unhappy one. Your parents are divorced, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have to learn to feed myself, nor would either of them have allowed us to eat at McDonald's every day." His judgmental tone stings. Charlie did the best he could, and I've mostly happy memories of my childhood.

"Oh, please, it wasn't bad. Trust me. Not at all. It was kind of a relief, to be honest, when Renee left. They used to fight … like a lot. I was happy that I didn't have to wake up to her screaming at him anymore. Charlie and I got along fine and I picked up a useful skill."

"You didn't miss your mom after she left?"

"Sure I did. I mean Renee used to dress me up for Halloween and read stories to me when I was sick. Charlie really wasn't good with stuff like that. So, yeah, I missed that after she vanished and that sucked."

"What do you mean 'vanished'?" he asks, looking confused and concerned, but I'm not certain about what.

"Well, you know … she packed up her stuff and left. She called on my birthday for a while after that …but then one year she stopped calling. The next time we received any notice that she was still alive was when she sent Charlie the divorce papers. They were delivered at his job via FedEx." I laugh. I see the demise of my parents' marriage as something ironic now. They weren't meant to be. I don't think there's anything sad about it anymore.

Edward doesn't laugh though.

"I'm sorry," he finally says and looks at me with furrowed eyebrows. It almost feels like the earnest, idealistic kid from five years ago is sitting across from me, except of course that he looks older and definitely more tired.

"Why?"

"Because I cannot imagine what that must felt like … to be abandoned by your mother."

"Mmmh, I never thought about it that way. Marriage and kids weren't for her. I'm not going to say it didn't hurt at first, but in the long run it probably worked out for the best. She wasn't happy."

"Still, it's not fair to you to just walk out on you."

I shrug my shoulders. "Oh, well, we both know that life's not fair. It's okay."

We sit around the table quietly for a while, sipping our coffee.

"So how long have you lived in this place?" Edward asks, leaning with his elbow on the table. "It looks kind of …empty…undecorated?" He chuckles and his eyes crinkle.

"About two months now."

"Are you renting the whole house?"

"No, I bought the whole house," I clarify. "What can I say? I guess I'm not the decorating type. And right when I thought I'd have some time, I got another assignment. So…"

"Well, it is kind of big," he says with a sigh.

I know the place looks like no one lives here, but him pointing it out somehow makes me feel worse about it. There's not one room that I've touched since I moved in. There are bare white walls in every room.

Edward stays until late in the afternoon. I hug him and kiss him on the cheek before he leaves, because it feels right and I think it's a harmless and friendly gesture. Edward stiffens in response and runs down the steps of my stoop.

Suddenly I'm worried that he doesn't really like me as a person, doesn't want me as a friend. I rehash our conversations, wondering whether I was too sarcastic or my humor too biting for his taste. I'm not sure.

That night, when I'm ready to crawl into bed, he calls me and we talk until my eyelids feel heavy. I haven't done this – talked to a boy on the phone for hours – since I was in high school and Charlie had me on a curfew. At some point he asks whether I'm seeing anyone. I think my unwillingness to sleep with him stunk his ego. I tell him the truth: there's nobody. I don't want to hang up; I want to fall asleep to the sound of his voice telling me stories. Eventually I do hang up.

I have a recurring dream later that night. I'm five years old again. It's Christmas Eve and Charlie and Renee are fighting. They yell and scream and when Charlie is about to walk out of the door, I run to him and cling to his leg. He tries to reason with me, telling me to let go, before attempting to loosen my arms. But I'm strong and hold on and don't let him leave. I always wake up clutching a pillow to my chest so forcefully my knuckles are white.

In reality, I never got off the sofa that night and Charlie stormed out of the apartment after Renee started throwing dishes at him. When he was gone, I yelled and asked her why she always had to be such a mean bitch. It had just slipped out, the word bitch. I knew it was bad. I'd picked it up from one of our neighbors. He'd muttered the word under his breath in a fit of rage as his girlfriend slammed their apartment door in his face. The morning after, I refused to open up my presents and moped in protest for the rest of the day. Renee left shortly after.

Charlie was depressed when she left and I couldn't comprehend why for a long time. His sullen mood didn't make sense to me because I couldn't remember a time when things were actually good between them. As long as I could remember there were only fights, followed by door slamming, followed by a long periods of silence. I never saw them laughing together or exchanging simple affection. Any love that existed between them had died long before I was old enough to recognize it.

I always blamed Renee for all the fights, because she was usually the one who started them. In retrospect, that probably wasn't fair. When I graduated college and complained that I didn't get so much as a card from my mother, Charlie admitted to me that he'd had a brief affair shortly after I was born. Renee had never wanted children, but kept me because he begged her to. The lesson I learned from their story was that it takes two people to make a relationship disintegrate. Seldom one party is entirely innocent.

The day he got the divorce papers, Charlie handed me a shoebox full of pictures of my mother and him. In the first pictures, taken when they started dating, I almost didn't recognize them. They looked thin, young and carefree and so different. The wedding pictures were a testament to the slow decline of their relationship. My mom was seven months pregnant in them. She looks uncomfortable in her shiny white polyester wedding dress; it looked like it didn't fit her right, too tight in odd spots and hanging loosely in others. She smiled, but it seemed fake. The expression on her face resembled that of a caged animal, resignation and fear clearly reflected in her eyes. In one photo, you could see Grandma Swan grabbing the champagne glass out of my mother's hands. It feels almost like her life is being ripped out of her hands, out of her control. Charlie looked happy in most of the pictures, smiling obliviously while eating cake and drinking beer. The first signs of his developing gut are there, tucked tightly in between the stretching buttons of his tuxedo jacket.

When I walk down the next morning to get coffee, my doorbell rings. I find Edward standing at my front door with potted flowers and a shovel in his hand, telling me he's going to take care of my barren yard. Before I can say good morning, he kisses me on the cheek and walks past me into the house.

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**I would have finished this earlier, but truth be told I was completely hooked on Cesca Marie's "Dead on My Feet." I know she doesn't need a rec from my little indie ass – but man-oh-man – her story is so good! If you're not reading it yet, go check it out. **

**Thank you so much for reading & please feel free to leave me a review. I always love to year from you.**

**Happy Holidays!**

**Cheers,**

**B**


	8. Chapter 8

**Many Thanks to my master betas Reamhar & KCerena for working their magic. I owe Kisvakondok for taking a look. My story would suck without her.**

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**VIII. "Friends"**

EPOV

My strategic seduction plan, along with my carefully constructed image of Isabella M. Swan as some sort of femme fatale, have collapsed like a house of cards and backfired on me to boot.

_Yeah, so not out of my system._

Things were going smoothly at first and I thought all the signs where there on our first non-date: the slight blush on her cheeks whenever I looked at her, the minute sway of her body gravitating toward mine, and the gleam I caught in her eyes whenever they lingered on me …but apparently I got it wrong. She claimed she was tempted and felt flattered, but seriously? I'm not buying it.

Instead of spending the night in her bed, I spent a sleepless night on an uncomfortable sofa in her chilly office. Painfully aware of her proximity, yet outside of my reach, I tossed and turned, listening for sounds from upstairs, hoping she'd change her mind. Later that night, still unable to fall asleep, I tried to rub one out, thinking it would lull me to sleep. Inspiration was easy enough to find, but every time I heard a creaking sound I stopped, the irrational fear that she'd catch me masturbating in her home halting my ministrations. When everything remained silent for a while, I tried to restart the process only to have my mind wander to the single photograph in the room sitting on a table next to the sofa. In it, a younger Bella with pigtails was sitting on the lap of someone who I'd guess to be her father. My enthusiasm, along with my erection deflated, as the image of the skinny, prepubescent girl burned itself into my retinas.

By the time Bella lightly tapped on the door, I'd barely gotten more than thirty minutes of sleep. The day I spent with her in her empty house was what cracked me in the end. I tossed any plans to get her out of my system out the window right after. Something about Bella had always been appealing to me and I was prepared for her physical lure that drew me in like the electrostatic attraction of metal to a magnet. What I didn't expect was that I'd _like_ her.

It's been four weeks since that date, four weeks since I started being "friends" with Bella. At first I agreed to the whole being "friends" thing, only to humor her, thinking I could make her fall for me. Sure, it would take some elbow grease but eventually she would succumb. Ummh, yeah, no such luck. Now I'm stuck in this box – this category of people she calls "friends" – and it's slowly killing me. For my own mental health, I should avoid her. Yet, ever the glutton for punishment, I hang out with her whenever possible. Since the girl works an insane amount of hours, it's not as often as I'd like and her devotion to her work irritates me. I'm starting to sound like my exes who bitched and moaned like no tomorrow about the amount of time I devoted to studying.

I don't know how to move on from here. The way I feel about her isn't normal. It's seriously screwed up. I have this compulsive need to be around her, and I can't fall asleep without having talked to her at least once during the day. It's pathetic. I'm whipped without actually getting any action. Part of me just wants to take off and join the Peace Corps. Of course, with my luck I'd catch a nice tropical infection in the first third world country they'd ship me off to and then I'd be back here at square one. Nothing in my life is order; fuck if I know how to survive the next semester and I can't even face the small little things, like a simple conversation with her about that night five years go.

She tried to broach the subject about a week ago, but I copped out.

I remember it clearly … We spent the morning hours in the park reading the Sunday Times.

"Rudolph…or Olive the other Reindeer…"

"Olive was a dog."

"Yeah, and her nose wasn't red if I remember correctly. So Rudolph it is."

"Shut up, Edward."

"Seriously. Go look in a mirror if you don't wanna believe me." I got up from my spot on the meadow to stand, enjoying the view down her shirt for a second, before holding my hand out to her. "Come on. You need to get out of the sun, Rudolph."

"Stop staring at my boobs and calling me Rudolph. The two don't work together."

"Rudolph was a female reindeer, didn't you know?"

She rolled her eyes, but took my hand.

"What do you think of these?" I'd been staring at her ass and it'd escaped my attention that we'd wandered into a department store until she held up a pair of high-heeled sandals for my inspection.

"Nice." Shoes all look the same to me. "What's the occasion?"

"I've to go to this dumb party. Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure." My answer to her question: further evidence for just how low I'd sink for the girl.

"Edward?" I turned around to face the familiar sounding voice and saw Angela walking over to me.

"Hey. How're you?" I hugged her briefly and caught a glimpse of her mother giving me the stink eye over her shoulder. "Hi, Ms. Webber. Nice to see you."

"Angie, I'm just going to look at the sale section down there, okay?" Ms. Webber said with a stern expression on her face, pointing to a rack of shoes on the other side of the floor.

"Edward, I can't believe it. I thought I was seeing a ghost for second. I never thought I'd run into to you, out of all people, at a lady's shoe department." Angela shook her head and grabbed my hands, a big smile plastered on her face.

"Well … I'm here with a friend," I said, pulling my hands away awkwardly and nodding into the direction of Bella who was suddenly standing a couple of feet away from us.

"Bella?" Panic started to settle in my stomach.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Angela alone. I'd only seen her once after our breakup and our encounter hadn't exactly gone smoothly. While we dated, Angela had never struck me as the overly emotional type, but apparently I'd been wrong. We'd run into each other at a lecture held by the Council on Palliative Medicine, aptly titled "Communication between Professions: Doctors Are from Mars, Social Workers Are from Venus" and I'd barely said 'hi' when she started whaling and sobbing loudly. The evening had ended early, with me fleeing the lecture hall after Angela's best friend had smacked me over the head with a purse.

"Yeah?" she answered, thankfully returning to my side.

"Angela, this is Bella."

"Hi, Angela. Nice to meet you."

"Hi. So how did you con Edward here into Barneys, on a Sunday afternoon no less?" Angela said in an unfamiliar, clipped tone.

"Oh, you know, I've some tricks up my sleeve," Bella responded with a wink.

"I see." A seriously sour expression started forming on Angela's face. "How long have you two been dating then?"

Without thinking, I shook my head. "Oh, we're not dating," I clarified.

"Nope, I was just kidding. Listen, Edward, the sales person is just bringing out a pair of shoes for me. I'll wait for you over there."

"Wait. I'll come with you. It's been nice to run into you, Angela." I smiled at her briefly, but didn't bother to wait for a reply and hurried after Bella.

"Do you like these?" she asked, as I watched in relief Angela and her mother step on the escalator. I turned around to see Bella standing on shaky legs, her feet strapped into a pair of high heels. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yeah, but can you walk in them seems to be the more important question."

"Pffft, of course I can." She took some steps, wobbled for a second before falling flat on her ass. "Shit!"

Her dress had hitched up during the tumble onto the floor and I could see white panties with pink flowers on them.

"I see London, I see France …" I started laughing. I couldn't help it. Blame it on infantile regression.

"You're an ass, Edward! You know that?" She got up with a huff and started fiddling with the thin straps of the shoes.

"What? You looked funny," I defended myself, hiding my smile behind my hand.

"Well, thanks. I'm glad I amused you."

I stopped laughing and we both kept quiet.

The silence between us started to worry me after we'd left the store, and I was about to grovel for her forgiveness when a loud thunder clapped and heavy summer rain started falling.

"Shit, let's run to the diner on Lex," she said and started running.

"Bella!" I halted after a block, already drenched to the bone. She ignored me and kept on running.

"Stop. Can you just fucking stop running!"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"It's raining, dickhead. Come on!"

"It's impossible for me to get any wetter." My sneakers squished as I followed her. "Tell me what I did wrong?"

"Nothing. Forget about it. Let's go."

"Just tell me." I attempted to reach for her but we came to stop at a crummy looking dinner and so I dropped it. The girl's got the most of extensive knowledge on old decrepit diners where the average customer isn't a day over sixty. It seems she knows one on every third block without fail. She always orders matzo ball soup or hot chocolate. I usually stick with tea.

That day, after we settled in a booth, we both ordered hot chocolate.

"I'm sorry for laughing."

"Don't be. I'm sure it looked funny." She didn't crack a smile and shrugged her shoulders, looking out the window.

"What is it then?"

"Why do you hang out with me, Edward? Tell me, I want to know. It sure isn't because I'm sleeping with you."

"What do you mean? We're friends, Swan. At least I thought we were," I told her with a genuine smile and a shrug, but the didn't respond. Nervously I took a sip from my watery Swiss Miss drink and burned my tongue.

"I'm annoying you."

"No. Why would you think that? Can you just tell me what I did that was so horrible that you're giving me the silent treatment now?"

"That girl, are you sleeping with her?"

"Who? Angela? Nooooo! Why would think that? She … we … used to date."

"That's why you were so uncomfortable?" She looked confused, like the thought that it might be awkward to run into an ex hadn't ever occurred to her.

"Sorry. Didn't think it was obvious."

"Edward, you looked like you were about to bolt out of there! So I thought I'd help you out by hinting that you were with me, but for some reason that idea appalled you even more."

"Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't notice . . . I didn't think. It came out wrong. She freaked out on me, okay? The last time I saw her she cried like I killed her dog or something. I just didn't want another scene."

"A scene? The girl's crying her heart out because she's obviously not over you, and you are worried that she's making a scene?"

"What do you want me to say? It was embarrassing. She didn't even cry when we broke up. It's bullshit."

She became quiet again, sipping her chocolate and I couldn't take it.

"You're doing it again," I said after five minutes had passed during which neither of us said a word.

"What do you want me to say, Edward?"

"You're mad at me."

"No, I'm not. Listen, I think we need to clear some stuff up." I nodded, not sure what to expect. "That night when we first met––"

Just the mere mention of that night made my stomach churn. Why the fuck did she have to bring that up? The shitty cheap powder from the hot chocolate made my throat scratch. My eyes shifted and caught sight of this old guy next to us who pulled out a handkerchief and started blowing his nose. A wave of nausea swept over me.

_Don't blow too fucking hard or you'll get a nosebleed!_

_But nothing._

He folded the handkerchief and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Please, can we not talk about it?" I sighed loudly and let out a shaky breath, still feeling panicked. "Please?"

And that ended it. Not another word since. I don't know why, but I'm not ready to go there. This weekend, I'll be stuck on a trip were I'll have to pretend for three whole days that she's just a friend to me. Tanya's family owns a cabin in the Catskills and Bella and I will spend the weekend there with Emmett and Tanya.

I'm on my way to borrow Carlisle's car, since there is no way in hell I'm risking my life getting into Bella's car with her driving all the way upstate.

"Edward?" Carlisle calls from upstairs.

"Shit," I whisper under my breath.

I was hoping to just grab the car keys and run out of here. "Yeah, it's me. I'm getting the keys. I'm late already," I yell and see him jog down the stairs.

"Hey, son. How have you been? Are you avoiding your old man?" He hugs me once he's standing next to me.

"No, no…just busy, I guess."

"So who are you going on this trip with?"

"Emmett and some friends."

"Mmmh…" He nods to himself and smirks. "Does that include the cute brunette I saw you with the other day on Smith? You know Beth and I would love it if you'd come by more often, particularly if you are in the neighborhood already."

I'm tempted to lie, but there's the risk of getting caught. "Umm, yeah. Why?"

"Just asking." He shrugs. "So is it serious between you two?"

"What? No, we're friends. Listen, I gotta run. Thanks for letting me borrow the car." I head toward the door while Carlisle chuckles.

"Friends, huh? Is that what they call it these days?"

I roll my eyes and run out of there. I find the car and drive up the five blocks to Bella's house. Bella, Tanya, and Emmett are already sitting on the stoop when I pull up.

"B, tell me again why we're not taking your car? It's way nicer than his monstrosity," Tanya says loudly as I open the door of the Volvo SUV.

"I think he's not impressed with my driving skills."

"Why? He drives like a grandma." Emmett laughs.

"Last time I checked you didn't even have a license, Em," I point out.

"What for? I've your granny ass to drive me around."

I roll my eyes and ignore him. Any response would only spur him on. I grip the steering wheel tightly and start driving. Thankfully Emmett is dead asleep by the time we reach New Jersey, and Bella and Tanya are quietly listening to music. Tanya has mentioned something about Bella and I having to share a room. If we have to share a bed or something, I know the nights will be long and sleepless. I try to focus on driving instead of Bella wearing tiny shorts and a tank top in bed next to me.

"You are aware the speed limit is 65, right?" Tanya says, touching my shoulder. I check the speedometer. I'm doing 55. I step on the gas petal until the speedometer reaches 65 to pacify her.

"Happy now?"

"You know you can at least do 70. No cop will stop you if you're fewer than five miles over the speed limit," she adds.

"Told you so. Slow as a turtle." Emmett has apparently woken from his beauty sleep.

"I can drive for a while, if you like?" Bella suggests. "You look kind of tense."

"I'm not suicidal."

"Oh, please. I've been driving for ten years now and aside from one little fender bender and a couple of speeding tickets, my record is clean."

"Now that's a miracle," I say under my breath, but she hears me.

I made the mistake of getting into her little beamer once. During the thirty-minute ride, she almost mowed over two pedestrians, one bicyclist, and a dog. On a small street in a thirty-mile-per-hour speed zone, I caught her doing sixty. She also seems to have a hard time remembering how to use the turn signal. To say that she drives like a maniac would be an understatement.

"Don't be mean," she says with a scowl on her face.

"Come on, turtle. Step on the gas." It's comments like these that make me hate Emmett.

"Fuck you."

"Chill!" I see Tanya slap Emmett over the head through the rearview mirror. "We'll get there … eventually, I guess." I hear her giggle.

An hour later I pull onto a grassy patch next to a tiny wooden shack in the middle of nowhere. The minute I step out of the car a swarm of mosquitoes seems to buzz around me. I don't know what I expected, but when I step inside Tanya's "cabin" my mouth drops. I swear I've been to camps with more modern amenities. The kitchen and the bathroom look like they haven't been remodeled since the 1950's. It's beyond me how two girls, who can obviously afford something better, like to slum it over the weekend. Bella mentions that coming here is sort of a tradition for them and they like it. Don't ask me why. I don't get the appeal – _at all_.

"This is us." Bella walks into a room and I follow her. It's not much bigger than one of Esme's walk-in-closets. A bunk bed stands across from a window, which has red & white-checkered curtains. "I'm on top."

"Huh? I stare at her, images of Bella naked on top of me flushing trough my mind.

_Yeah, I'm such a fucking pervy teenager lately. _

"I'll take the top of the bunk bed."

"Right. Okay."

Bella and Emmett start cleaning up the place and go shopping for food while Tanya and I sit outside and start kicking back beers. I've seen Tanya drink Emmett under the table, but I refuse to be outdone by a girl and so I keep up with her, can for can. By the time Emmett and Bella return, the pile of empty PBR cans is impressive and I'm buzzed.

"Yo, babes, come check out what Bella and I got at the fish stand."

Tanya gets up without effort and I follow her into the kitchen where Bella and Emmett stand bending over an icebox.

"Aren't they cool?" Bella says, as I glance over her shoulder into the box. "We thought we'd make 'em for dinner on Sunday."

I stare at the two lobsters, not quite sure what to make of their purchase. "Cool" is definitely not the word that comes to my mind. "Where are you going to keep them until then?" I ask skeptically. "The box seems a bit too small for them." The poor bastards are practically on top of each other with their tied up claws.

"We can put them in the bathtub," Tanya says with a shrug of her shoulders, popping open another beer.

"Yeah, good idea." Emmett, the dumb fuck, nods in approval.

"And where are you planning to shower?" I ask, hoping they take the damn creatures back to where they bought them.

"There's a shower outside. We should name them," Tanya says, pointing at the creatures in the icebox.

"Why would you name them, if you're going to eat them?" I'm appalled by the fact that she wants to name the dinner.

"Did you become a vegetarian or something, Eddie?" Emmett asks laughing. I feel like smacking him. "How about Ernie and Bert?"

"Do we know if they're male lobsters?" Bella seems to be into the whole naming your food thing, too. She picks up one of them with both hands and starts inspecting it. I give up and go back outside.

By the time it's dark outside and I've consumed another six-pack of beers, they've settled on Max and Maddie. I'm ready to pass out and don't even care anymore. Tanya still doesn't seem drunk, but I think I've reached the right level of inebriation to fall asleep despite Bella's presence.

~000~

When I wake up the next morning, birds are chirping and I have a massive headache. It doesn't go away either.

A fucking ice cold shower outside (thanks to Max & Maddie swimming comfortably in the bathtub), several cups of coffee, five aspirins, and three bottles of water later, the headache's still pounding. By mid-afternoon, Tanya suggests the "hair of the dog that bit you" cure. I have enough sense to decline and instead lounge around on a chair in the shade, while Bella and Tanya decide to go swimming in the murky-looking lake that borders the meadow behind the cabin. Afterward, they decide it's appropriate to sunbathe topless with a group of boys hanging out on the other side of the lake eagerly ogling them.

"You are aware that they're giving the little freaks over there a free show?" I say when Emmett sits down next to me.

"So?" He shrugs his shoulders. "What's happening between you and Bella?"

"Nothing. We're friends. That's all."

"Yeah, I think I've heard that before, but seriously? Come on, you're not fooling me. You look like you want to tap that." He points his beer can in the direction of Bella.

"What I want doesn't matter."

"How so? You do hang out a lot. Can't imagine that she'd never have wondered about it."

"She said 'friends' is all she can handle right now. Or something like that. Anyway, her decision, not mine."

"But you don't want to be just friends?"

I'm starting to get irritated. "Well, no… not really."

"Maybe you need talk to her."

"And what do you suggest I say?" I can feel my blood starting to boil. "So Bella, I can't handle being friends, because I really just want to screw you?"

"Is that all you want?"

"No, of course not. It's just…I don't know…it's a clusterfuck."

"Sounds like it. Go talk to her. Tell her how you feel."

Maybe he's right?

_Being friends is not enough, Bella._

How I feel about you?

_I like you. _

_I like how you eat with your hands when you think nobody is watching._

_I like how uncomfortable you look when someone gives you a compliment. It's hilarious._

_I like how you scrunch your nose when you laugh._

_I like how the left side of your lip moves up when you don't like something._

_I like that you can't lie for shit. Your face always betrays you._

_I like your food._

_Scratch that – I love your cooking…your tits, your ass…you…_

_I love you._

Screw it. Yeah, it's not happening_. _

Tanya gets up eventually to make some cocktails and I keep an eye on the little motherfuckers across the lake. When I see some reflection coming from one of the kid's hands, I lean forward and discover the little idiot is holding binoculars in his hands.

I can't help myself. I get up and walk down to where Bella's sunbathing, apparently oblivious to her audience.

"Cover the fuck up, Swan!" I practically growl as I toss a towel on her chest and flip the little fuckers the bird.

"What the hell is your problem?" She pushes the towel away, but to my relief puts on a t-shirt. "And stop calling me by my last name. It's so not cool." She scowls and looks hurt.

_Way to go, Cullen! Way to endear yourself as her "friend."_

"Sorry," I mumble and walk away.

The day passes in agonizingly slow speed and when I head to bed I'm wide-awake with a raging hard-on, listening to sounds from the top bunk.

"Bella, are you still up?" She doesn't answer, even though I swear I heard her mumble something. When I hear her moan, I can't resist and get up.

"Hey." I touch her shoulder, but her eyes are closed and she doesn't move.

I don't know how long I lie there with her whimpering and making little 'mmmh" sounds, but it seems like forever. I contemplate waking her up to ask what she's dreaming about to thoroughly embarrass her, but when I shake her shoulder she only moans louder. I try to drown the noise out by pulling a pillow over my head. It doesn't help.

When I can't take it anymore, I stumble into the bathroom, hitting my toe hard against the door in the process. I ignore the pain, don't bother with the light, pull my pants down and start stroking myself. I imagine Bella crawling into my bed, pulling my boxers down and riding me. It's easy to visualize, since I pretty much spent half the day staring at her tits. I think I'm breaking my own record when I jizz into sink not even a minute later. I turn the light on to wash my hands and blink for a second too long into the mirror. Max and Maddie are staring at me, swimming in the bathtub behind me. At that moment, I sincerely wish I'd stayed behind in the city.

The rest of the trip is just as screwed up. I'm close to losing it when Bella asks me for advice on how to stab the dinner between the eyes the following night.

"Don't you just toss them in boiling water?" I ask, as the lobsters I spent half the night in the bathroom with are led to their slaughter.

"That's crueler actually. It's supposed be a quicker death if you sever the spinal cord from the brain," she responds coolly with a knife in her hand. "I just wanna make sure I hit the right spot, you know?"

I shake my head. "No spinal chord."

"What?"

"They're invertebrates. They have no spinal cords."

"Huh." She props her hands on her hips and frowns.

To my disgust, Emmett finds a YouTube video in which Julia Child coldheartedly murders a lobster and another one where another woman gives instructions on how to point the blade properly. I walk out of the kitchen after that and take the car to the nearest liquor store.

The selection at the store is shit and I end up driving home with a bottle of Wild Turkey next to me. Max and Maddie have successfully been killed by the time I return and I end up eating them because anything Bella makes tastes delicious. I know I'm a hypocrite.

We sit on the deck until late at night. At some point Emmett asks Bella about her book and my ears perk up.

"Do you still write fiction?"

"Not really. It's not my thing. Conversation is easier to handle. It sort of comes naturally without having to think too much about it. The stories that were in that book I wrote in college. I haven't attempted anything like that in a long time."

The bottle of Wild Turkey is half empty and it takes a while for the information to sink in. The book I searched in vain for a trace of us was written before I met her.

"So the stories in your book are the stuff you handed in for classes?" I ask incredulously a couple of minutes later when everyone seems to have moved on to another topic.

She looks at me, and chuckles. "I know, lazy me, right? Actually, only one of them was for a class. The other ones I just wrote for my own entertainment. A friend of mine liked them and found a publisher. I didn't want to put the stuff out there at first. Half the stories were based on relationships of friends and family...so it seemed weird. Like I was invading their privacy, even though all the names were changed and some of the things in the stories were made up."

I finish the bottle and head to bed. We head back into the city the next day. I spent the first two and a half hours of the drive thinking about what to say to Bella, but I can't think straight. I remember this one story in her book – the story of Rebecca and Carl – and it dawns on me that the story was about her parents.

I drop Emmett and Tanya off in the Manhattan. I'm alone with Bella and still no words want to come out. I hug her and hold on to her before she leaves, but let the moment slip without saying anything. She's out of the car and jogging up her steps without turning around.

"You look tired, Edward," Elisabeth says when I hand her the keys to the car.

"Yeah, shitty bed."

She chuckles.

"Whatever," I murmur and head out of there.

_If she only knew … _

_I can't do this anymore_.

_She's nothing like I expected. _

Before I know it, I'm standing in front of Bella's door.

* * *

**It's my b-day today. I'm throwing myself a pity-party. Leave me some love?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thx to my betas KCerena & Reamhar. Any remaining typos…**

**Thx also to Kisvakondok for pre-reading.**

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**IX. New**

BPOV

Beats me what's going on between Edward and me.

Being friends doesn't seem to be working out too well for either of us. Then again, neither of us was aiming for that, I think. Not sure what his plan was. I don't think I had one.

I can't deal with the constant teasing that comes with being Edward's _friend._ It would be amusing for about two minutes if his words weren't sometimes so callous. Maybe they're not…maybe I'm being oversensitive and silly because I like him.

When I keep quiet after some odd remark from him, he apologizes profusely, like my silent treatment is some form of rejection that he can't take. It's not though. I just don't know how to respond.

On occasion, I do get the vibe from him that I am more to him than a casual friend he finds moderately attractive, like when I catch him staring into my eyes instead of down my shirt. Walking down the street with him, he never looks at other women, which is a pleasant change in comparison to past boyfriends and even to Jasper.

But this weekend trip … _strange._

Edward drank like a fish. It almost seemed like he tried to keep up with Tanya. I could've told him that that was a fruitless endeavor, utterly hopeless really. She has the constitution of an ox and drinks guys twice her size under the table without much trouble. He looked like he didn't want to be there, as if he was on an obligatory excursion with his parents rather than on a trip with friends. Devoid of enthusiasm and always slightly irritated might be the best ways to describe his mood.

I know we should _talk_. The question really is why we haven't already. In my defense, I've tried. But every time I so much as hint at the night we spent together or confront him on something that might require some form of emotional maturity, he acts like an ass.

I've just turned the faucet on to take a long bath when my doorbell rings. I sprint down to answer the door and find Edward standing in front.

"Hey, did I forget something in the car?"

"No." He stares at me, like he's searching for something.

"Come on in. I'll be right back," I say, one foot on the stairs, about to race back to turn the bathtub water off. He doesn't move. I leave him standing in the doorway and climb the stairs.

"Bella?" I hear as I turn the water off.

"Yeah. What's going on?"

"We need to talk," he says, pacing back and forth in my small bathroom. It only takes him three steps.

I'm tempted to say, "no shit, Sherlock," but hold back.

"Okay." I sit down on the rim of the bathtub and watch him. He stops, glances at the ceiling and then at me. I don't know what to expect.

_Talking. _

He's staring though, not saying a thing.

_Does he want me to start?_

All I really want to do is kiss him. I've wanted to do this for some time now; recapture what we had somehow. It might be a fool's errand, but I hope it's not.

_If I do kiss him, would I get a snippety, mean comment followed by an apology?_

Things would possibly be even weirder after that and I really can't let that happen. I've reached about all I can take as far as weirdness goes.

"You know, when your book came out, I read it two times in one night, hoping like a pathetic idiot that I'd find some sort of hint about me in there," he finally says in a trounced voice.

"I hadn't met you when I wrote the stories and they are not about me."

"I know that." He shoots me an angry glare. "That's not the point I'm trying to make. I'm trying to explain to you how I felt about you."

He's talking about the past, not the present, the boy from back then, not the man in front of me. His eyes shine with weariness, the bags underneath them are dark and his shoulders are slumped. I can't take it anymore.

"And how do you feel now?"

Edward walks to the door and I think he's about to walk away, but then he just lingers there without giving me an answer.

I ignore my fears about fucking this up further and walk over to him. Standing behind him, I slide one hand on his shoulder. It feels like his skin is vibrating when my fingers reach the soft fabric. I need to see his face. I can feel him shift and before I can read the expression on his face, his lips crash down on mine. I pull back, but then press my lips against his.

We should talk, but does it matter?

His tongue finds mine and I don't want anything else. I want to touch and kiss and feel…remember what it felt like. This used to feel amazing and if the kiss is any indication, it still will.

Without words, we tumble into the bedroom. I open my eyes as his hands tighten around my ass and notice his closed ones. Dark eyelashes against his skin, a crease between his heavy brows, he seems deep in concentration. He notices my slowly responding lips as I gaze at him and opens his eyes.

"Please," he urges, his forehead pressed against mine. "Let's not stop."

"No. Let's not."

It's too late anyway. Turning back isn't an option, even if it's going to hurt afterward. We're breathing heavily, grabbing, and his fingers are on my skin and my hands are tracing the outlines of his shoulders. We're not the same, but the feeling is the same.

I can't relinquish the sensation that spurs me on; makes me want more. I kiss his lips, and his jaw down to his neck. He steps back and takes off my shirt.

We fall onto the bed without pause. Edward is kicking his shoes off while I tug at his t-shirt. The energy stored from spending weeks around him only allowing light, friendly touches bursts out. The way his breathing accelerates and the sounds he makes tell me he feels the same.

We kiss and bite and lick. I search for a condom. I find one in the night table. Tanya put a box there three months ago and I haven't used a single one.

"Please," I pant as he enters me without hesitation.

"I missed this ..."

He kisses my face, nibbles at the skin around my collarbone and I can't remember when _this_ has felt so good.

"Okay?" His breath hits the skin near my ear. He's rocking slowly. I nod and find his mouth. My hands explore his back. His skin feels like I remember it ... his touch is better. His fingers push between us, teasing me.

When I come, I close my eyes. Edward moves faster and I hold on to him tightly, digging my fingers into his back. He groans and collapses and his whole weight presses down on me. My breathing is shallow below his relaxed form.

I feel needy and weak when he pulls out of me and rolls over. I'm afraid he's gonna call me by some infantile nickname and slap me on the butt. It doesn't happen. He kisses me and pulls my head to his chest. I relish the calm.

"Sorry, it's been a while," he apologizes, pinching me in the arm.

_Why?_

He's ruining my mood with his performance concerns. What does he want to hear? How amazing it felt? I feel a light chuckle reverberate through his chest and smack him on the stomach.

"Ouch...why are you hitting me?"

"Because it's not about that. Not _this_...not _us_." Not articulate, but still true.

"Now you're truly hurting my ego." He's laughing now.

I'm getting angry. "Shut up. Please. You're such a buzz kill!" I prop my chin up on his chest and stare at him, a little annoyed. The smirk disappears and suddenly he looks sad. "We should talk." I push myself away and sit up.

"Are you going to run again?" There's an accusatory tone to his voice and I get it. But at the same time it's stupid.

"It's my house. Why would I?" I deadpan, acting just as childish. I can't help it – he brings it out in me. I need to backtrack. I run my hand through my hair and settle my eyes on his white shirt lying on the floor. I can't look at him. "I didn't want to run the last time. Well, that's not exactly true... I did when I figured out your age. And I'm sorry for acting so carelessly and cold back then. I liked you. I always have. I tried to tell you before. That night was special to me."

"It's okay." I glance at him. He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn't care.

"It's not okay if you're going to continue to hold it against me."

"Shit, Bella. You bolted after we had sex and then refused to even talk to me. I get it. I wasn't exactly prime boyfriend material for you back then, but..."

"I was a mess back then. It's hard to describe how miserable I was. Nothing felt right. I was terrified that my life would turn into this never ending rut of going to work at a job I hated, drinking too much and dating guys who didn't care about me. It felt like I was stuck and always broke. And then I met you and you were so … smart … and you seemed to have it all figured out. You knew what you wanted. Sleeping with you, as good as it felt –"

"It did?" He's cocking an eyebrow at me and grins, like he hasn't even been listening to me.

"Yeah, it did. Ego appeased? You can tell everyone 'I was an ace in bed even when I was a virgin'," I say. I know it's a cheap shot, but he did kind of set himself up for that one. I'm trying to explain to him who that girl was back then and that I am nothing like that today.

The color drains out of Edward's face and he turns away and sits up at the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor. I reach for him, but he shrinks away from my touch.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'd like to make this work somehow. What do you want? Tell me." I swallow hard, waiting.

"I can't handle the friends thing," he says in a low voice, gazing forward. "It's not an option for me." When I don't respond immediately, he moves to get up. I grip his shoulder.

"Please." He doesn't turn around. I wrap my arms around him and place a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Trust me. I won't run again. You'll be the one to leave this time. I want us. I want this." When I move to kiss his neck, he turns to face me and kisses me. We take it slow and it lasts until we fall asleep.

~000~

"Edward, I don't have time…ugh…I've to go to a production meeting…" I feel his tongue on my neck and his boner pressed against my ass. I attempt one step toward the door.

"You can be late once," he pleads.

His arms are like vise grips around my stomach holding me to him. The minute I stop resisting, stop trying to make my way to the door, his fingers trail down to the hem of my skirt.

"May I?" he asks as he pushes it up. I can feel the grin on his face against my skin.

"Mmmh…but."

_It's okay to be late, right? _

His fingers graze along my thigh and I shiver. It was a superfluous discussion all along.

_Just this once. _

I nod and he's so quick, pushing my underwear down to my knees, bending me forward smoothly but with control. I press my palms on the dresser. I hear the sound of his belt being undone. The condom wrapper drops on the floor and I feel him.

He fits perfectly and it's good… always, so it's worth it. So good every single time. Edward pants as he thrusts and leans forward pressing his chest against my back.

"Spread your legs wider, babe, please," he groans. I feel his breath against my neck, his chest's heaving and I try to comply, shimming my underwear down.

"Wait," I murmur and take my panties off without losing contact. He rocks against me slowly. My stance is wider and I feel him deeper but … not enough. "Faster, please."

"No." I look over my shoulder and he shakes his head. I whimper.

"Please." I wiggle and push my butt against him looking for more. He halts my movements firmly with one hand and starts rubbing me with the other.

"Close?" His voice sounds hoarse and strained with effort as he draws circles and pulls in and out in long, measured strokes.

"Mmmmh…more." He complies, picking up his pace minutely and I come. I ride it out. My legs feel like jelly and I just want to collapse, but his hands placed on my hips, encircling me and holding me in place, won't let me.

"Not." Thrust. "Even." Pull. "Close."

His slow, languid rhythm teases me. I moan. He's groaning and shaking, performing a tightrope walk that he can't sustain. After another minute, he pulls out and turns me around swiftly.

I want him back.

I should be mad at him that he's making me late, but when I look into his eyes as his fingers move a strand of hair out of my face and he positions himself with his hand against me, I can't.

"You feel so good." Kiss. "I want to …" push, "lock you up …" lick, "in this room…mmmh…" thrust ", and never let you go."

His hips are rocking harder against mine; he's hitting the right spot as he holds my butt in place on top of the dresser. The silly empty jewelry box the decorator placed on the dresser is shaking.

"So good…" I moan into his t-shirt with my forehead resting against his shoulder. I dig my heels into his ass to gain some control.

"Slow down," he orders.

"Don't stop."

"Mmmm…no. Not yet…I want to…"

"More … like this." I move my hips.

"Please … don't move …"

"I need."

"Fuck."

He shakes and stills.

I love _this_.

~000~

"Stay," he says, peppering kisses against my stomach.

"I can't."

"It's Sunday."

"I have to go."

I do and I'll miss him.

He sighs, grabs my panties off the floor and carries me over his shoulder downstairs.

"Come home soon," he says, kissing me goodbye. I smile, walking to my car. It feels nice not to have to come home to an empty house. It's been three weeks. Three weeks and five days of feeling deliciously sore almost all the time. He's always around and I like it; I can't concentrate or work when he's not. I think I'm in love, but I haven't said it yet.

It's only been three weeks. It's too soon.

I don't pay attention during the production meeting and instead text Edward.

'What are you up to? – B'

'Missing you. Come home before I'm tempted to find some lotion. – E'

'Ewww – B' (not really though)

'You asked –E'

'Shouldn't you start studying or something? – B'

He doesn't respond; he never does when I ask about school. He gets quiet and withdraws. I leave it be. No need to push. I have my suspicions that Edward might have picked his career plan for the wrong reasons and is simply too stubborn to give up on it. He's truly led a charmed life so far: Horace Mann, Columbia for undergrad and then again for med school, all without student loans. I think he needs to get a feel for _real life_ before turning his whole life over to his career.

'How much longer will ur shit meeting last? –E'

'It's not shit. – B'

Okay, that's a lie. It's shit. The director is a control freak, my co-writer a know-it-all, and the producer a tight ass and the only person with access to the cash coffer. The schedule is impossible. The premise of the show, tired (stupid love story of opposites attract).

'I'll be home soon. – B'

At least I hope so.

'How soon? – E'

'Not soon enough. Go find some lotion. – B'

'I found an e.e. cummings book in ur office. – E'

'may i feel? – B'

'i won't squeal. come home. you're MINE. – E'

I'm squeezing my thighs together.

'i am yours. always. –B'

Secretly, I hate what he has reduced me to. I look around me

'I want you. Not my hands. – E'

The director shoots me an odd glance. I blush, put the phone away and focus. After two hours of arguing, the director asks for a thousand rewrites and it becomes clear that he has absolutely no idea what he wants. I'm annoyed to no end. I don't know why I accepted this project.

No, not true. You know why.

Because I'm terrified that if I reject one project, things will dry up and I won't find another one for some time. Before I know it, my career will have dwindled away and I'll be yesterday news.

I know it's stupid. I should've skipped this one. Even my agent, who usually tries to push me to do a lot of shit projects, told me to take a break.

When I finally crawl back home, it's one o'clock at night. I smile when I notice the light in the living room is still on because it means he stayed up waiting for me.

Edward is lounging on the sofa in the living room in old washed-out jeans and a college t-shirt, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He's scratching his stomach and his shirt has ridden up. I swallow. I feel (and I'm sure look) tired and ugly. My hair is greasy and my clothes smell of smoke because the producer is a chain smoker. My ass feels bigger than usual from sitting on it all afternoon and night. I run with the feeling and get ice cream from the freezer.

"Hey." I sit down next to him with a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

I glance at the TV screen. It's Brad and Angelina as agents assigned to kill each other. I smirk. "I watched that movie before I ran into you back then." He takes the ice cream out of my hands and feeds me.

"I know," he says. I respond with a questioning look. "I sat a couple of rows behind you. I kind of had a thing for stalking you back then."

I chuckle and look at him in disbelief.

"Are you freaked out now?"

"No. So long as you didn't break into my room or anything, it's flattering I think." Considering how I feel right this minute, it is; almost an instant ego-boost.

"Flattering?"

"Stop fishing for compliments. I'm sure you're well aware of your physical attributes. I'm sure there were plenty of girls who wouldn't have minded a stalker like you." I look up at him and he gives me a wicked grin and winks.

"I only stalked one girl though. And she kind of ignored me."

"No, I didn't." He pulls me into his side, his fingers playing with my hair.

"You sure did for a long time. I followed you around for over a month and after that night I kept on waiting in front of your building. Even when college started I kept on coming back to stay at my dad's house, hoping I might run into you. Pathetic, right?" When I glance up at him, there's a small smile playing around his lips.

I move out from under his arm because I need to see his eyes. I tell him that I only returned for one day to the apartment, that I had no idea, and, most of all, how sorry I am. I need him to forgive me for the way I behaved back then.

"It's okay. I understand and it doesn't matter anymore because I have you now." I hope he's telling the truth. I kiss him. His lips taste like ice cream.

"I missed you," he breathes into my mouth.

"I'm here now."

His cold fingers are on my stomach making me squirm. "Stay."

"I'll work from home tomorrow."

"I'll cook." Edward has picked up my cookbooks and is slowly teaching himself all my recipes. It's scary. I feel I might be obsolete in the kitchen soon. I dread the day when his rotations will start. Between work, studying and sleeping, I possibly won't see him very much anymore.

"Move in." The words are out before I even think about it.

He looks at me and doesn't say anything. I get scared. It's too soon. When his hand reaches out to touch my face, I look away. I can feel my heart beating against the skin where his fingers rest.

"Are you sure? You want me to move in with you?" he asks, bending his head down to look into my eyes.

I bite my lip and avoid his gaze. "Yeah."

He kisses me softly. "Okay."

"Okay, you'll move in? What about school? You'll have to take the train every day?"

"I don't care. I want to live with you."

"I've never done this before," I admit. He laughs. I roll my eyes.

"Why?"

"Because … I don't know. Never wanted to? You have? I mean, moved in with your girlfriend?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, Angela wanted to … and her apartment was nicer than the crappy student housing."

"So you're moving in with me because the house is nicer than your studio?" I wrinkle my forehead and he kisses me.

"No. I'd ask you to move into my studio with me … I don't care _where_ I live as long as you're around," he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"So … what have you been up to all day? Any lotion left?"

"It's gone. Empty. Thankfully you're back now. You saved me a trip to the drugstore."

"Really? I have an extra bottle under the sink. Show me," I joke.

We stay up until the sun rises and sleep half of the next day.

~000~

When we make it down to the kitchen the next day, a liquid pint of ice cream is sitting on the kitchen table. My cell phone rings and Edward answers it.

"Here," he hands me the phone with a smug expression on his face.

"Yeah?" I answer.

"Hey, B. It's me."

"Who?" I know who it is, but I loathe when Jasper calls and says, "it's me," like that means anything to me.

"Oh, come on. It's Jas. I haven't seen you in forever. Where have you been hiding?"

"Nowhere."

"Did I score points?" I hear a nervous laugh. Jasper and I used to have this game. We developed it in college. If we'd call each other while we were having sex with someone else, we'd score points. We had a whole system. 80 points for just fooling around, 100 points for pre-coital interruptions (half undressed and ready to go), 110 points for coital interruptions and 70 for post-coital. Once you reached a certain number, you owed drinks. We haven't played the stupid game since college.

"No."

"So who is he?"

I turn away from Edward, my cheeks turning red.

"My boyfriend?"

I hear Edward chuckle.

"Oh."

Silence.

"So …how long have you two been dating?"

"Mmmh, a while?"

"I see. Hey, did you wanna go grab some beers tonight?"

"I can't tonight. It's late and I still have some work to finish. Rain check?"

"Sure, sure. Call me, okay?"

"Will do. Talk to you later," I say and hang up.

"So … when do you want me to move in?" Edward says with a smile on his face, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Whenever you want to?"

"Okay. I'll ask Emmett to help me empty out the studio next Saturday."

I smile and we kiss.

* * *

**Thx for reading!**

**Work referenced: e.e. cummings "may i feel said he"**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thx to my betas KCerena & Reamhar. Any remaining typos…**

**Many thx also to Kisvakondok for pre-reading. She'll be updating **_**Mating In Captivity**_** – hopefully any minute now…**

**So yeah, I lied…no, not really…but anyway…yeah, the story will have three – tops four more chapters. And then I promise I will should up and let these characters be.**

**I don't own Twilight. **

**

* * *

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**X. Cloud 9**

A thin clear layer has formed on the taupe liquid in the glass. The ice is melting, watering down the coffee. I'm awake, too alert in fact. There's no need for coffee when your plan for the day is lounging around. It just makes me restless. Bella is working. I'll head upstairs soon and convince her she needs another break.

The sun is shining brightly, and the air is stiflingly hot. Getting up from the deck chair to stroll inside to the fridge for a bottle of water, I realize how long it's been since I've done nothing during the summer. Since I was old enough to have an erection, I've spent at least part of each summer in air-conditioned offices, labs or lecture halls. But the end of my idle summer is looming in sight now.

No more sitting around reading the newspaper for an hour in the morning, no more lazy afternoons in the house… it's one more week until my first rotation starts. Panic hasn't set in _yet_. I think it's because of Bella. Or maybe I don't care anymore. Or maybe she makes me feel like it's not important. "You'll be fine. I got you," she keeps on assuring me. I don't know.

_I'll deal with it when I get there. _

_As long as she's with me, I'll be fine. _

I gave up my student housing the minute she asked me to move in. I love her, so why wait? Carpe Diem, I figured.

Neither she nor I had actually uttered those exact words, "I love you," when I packed up my boxes at school. They were on my lips several times, but then it felt superfluous to say them. The feeling was there. I didn't want to cheapen what we had by simply saying them and waiting for the response only to satisfy any insecurity I harbored. In the end, though, that's probably why I said those three words for the first time. It was the day I moved in with her. The same day Jasper Whitlock showed up at her house.

_Our home? _I'm getting sentimental.

She was quiet after he left and I was worried. I wanted to do for her what she always did for me – calm me down.

I almost feel bad for Jasper – almost – in the end, not quite. Over the years I wondered what his deal was exactly, but after the meltdown he had when I moved in with her, I have no doubts left. It was almost comical to watch. I was about to drop the last of my stuff off in the hallway, when he stomped into the house. He noticed me with a box of books in my arms, Emmett carrying one of my bags and put two and two together.

At first he yelled at her for letting someone – anybody – move in. I told him to turn it down a notch, which garnered me some odd glances from Bella, though astoundingly not hostile ones. Things took on a more … let's say subdued tone after that. He asked to speak to her alone and, to my distaste, she agreed. Emmett watched the whole show, too entertained to politely leave.

I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

From what I could gather from the few words I overheard listening at the door, Jasper, in a final, sadly desperate plea, expressed his love for her. I'm not sure how she managed to keep a straight face for it. Apparently he even gave up going to Caltech for her way back when and went with her to Binghamton University instead. Seriously? Nothing against that school, but the thought of someone giving up the opportunity to go to Caltech and end up at average state college, all for a girl, is funny. Funnier even, he didn't get the girl!

Schadenfreude, isn't that what they call it? Taking pleasure in someone else's misfortune. And pleasure I do take from his preposterous situation.

Bella gave me the gist of the conversation after he left but left out some of the more salacious details that I overheard at the door. She seemed fragile and sad when she finished telling me, sitting in the corner of the sofa with her arms wrapped around her knees. I couldn't bear it. The thought that she might actually feel something – anything – for him made me nauseous.

"I don't know. I feel like such a bitch … we've been friends for so long … and I don't know…" she lamented, furrowing her brows before getting up to roam the room.

"He'll get over it. I'm certain." The BS was flowing freely at that point.

"Right."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I'm not." I laughed, but she kept quiet and grabbed the remote to turn the TV on. "Hey. I can't be sorry about the fact he's mad at you because you don't share the sentiment," I said loudly. She halted and put down the remote on the coffee table. Small lines appeared on her forehead.

That's when I said it.

"I love you."

It hung in the air. No way to take it back or to make a joke out of it. She didn't respond immediately, her eyes focused on mine. I walked over to her and pulled her into my arms. "Say it back." I bit her neck lightly.

"Why?"

"Please…you know you want to."

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you." A sense of relief washed over me. "I do … I could have said it earlier too, and it wouldn't have been a lie. I love you," she whispered.

~000~

It's twilight. Two kids are playing with a baseball mitt and a ball on the sidewalk as we pass. I pull her closer to my side and catch a glance down her dress, smelling her hair, which is pilled up on top of her head, in the process; some light fragrance reminiscent of summer rain. It's the perfect time of the day. I've come to like it the best; the period when she usually comes home or crawls out of her office. The mornings feel rushed, and at night, asleep, worries start seeping into my dreams.

We're heading over to Carlisle's house for dinner. I've been trying to stall this meeting – for my own sake, not hers.

The dinner at Esme's house with Bella two weeks ago brought me relentless jokes about how spoiled and overly privileged I am. Nothing was off limits to her. She made fun of my mother's fondness for surgical enhancements (which Esme freely discussed over a glass of Chablis), her selection of china (hideous, can't remember the name), the hour- long conversation about her interior decorator (the place looked the same to me), the three Bengal cats Esme's recently purchased (obnoxious animals), her clothing … you name it. My private school attendance, the size of my room, the separate bathroom and the walk-in closet adjacent to my room, and to my absolute horror a picture of me in a school uniform when I was kid provided endless fodder for her amusement. I tried not letting on, but I felt embarrassed by it all. There's only so much humiliation I can handle.

Carlisle is different but somehow worse.

Bella hardly ever seems uncomfortable in her own skin and I envy that. She took me over to her dad's place once. Since I knew her dad was a cop, I expected some jerk with an authority complex, one hand on the trigger and another one around a beer bottle, but was sorely disappointed. Charlie is calm and quiet and non-threatening. His handshake and his demeanor are soft. Bella and him seem to have an easy-going relationship. He greeted me with a smile on his face and barely asked me any questions other than which baseball team I thought might be a contender for the World Series this year.

Esme unfortunately has taken a liking to Bella and thinks it's okay to call her randomly and invite her to lunch. I don't like it, but when I said as much to my mother, she laughed loudly and proceeded to ignore me.

Despite being the focal point of Bella's jokes, she finds Esme refreshingly honest and says she doesn't mind hanging out with her. She thinks Esme is lonely after her latest divorce and just wants someone to complain to. Since listening to my mother on one of her "good" days (translation: on days when she's popped some Prozac and had some liquor to quell her ever-rising fear of aging before _her _time) is arduous and aggravating, I can't imagine anyone who'd volunteer to hear her whine.

Carlisle on the other hand … well, he doesn't have the cringe factor that Esme has when she opens her mouth; that is to say he doesn't pinch my cheek and tells me how handsome I am. Yet meetings with him leave me feeling scrutinized and stressed.

As I stand in front Carlisle's door, I can't remember why my parents divorced. No loud fight comes to mind that happened in this house. Even when the separation came, it was a calm, calculated one.

Elisabeth opens the door shortly after I ring the bell. She hugs me briefly before turning to Bella.

"Hi, I'm Beth and you must be Bella," she says, kissing her on the cheek. Bella furrows her brows at me questioningly, probably due to the display of affection from a woman she doesn't know. "Come in, guys. You're dad's in backyard, grilling."

The living room looks like I remember it growing up. The furniture has changed, but it feels the same, with white walls, bleak photographs of industrial landscapes, black leather and stainless steel decorations. Beth ushers us into the yard and hands us two glasses of wine while Carlisle is grilling the meat. It's dark outside now.

"So, how's school been?"

"It's not," I say, moving my jaw. I don't want to be here and I definitely don't want to talk about school.

"What do you mean?" Beth asks.

"It's not been doing anything because the semester ended nearly two months ago."

_Not that it's any of your business._

"Oh!" She laughs, as if I made a joke. "So where did you two meet?" I'm clutching Bella's hand under the table, hoping that she doesn't say anything incriminating. With each second that passes, it gets more uncomfortable in this tightly fenced-in yard.

"Two of our friends are sort of dating, so…" Bella says blushing.

"Oh, that's so interesting. And you live near here, too?"

_Interesting, really? I'm starting to dislike her. Up until know she has been a blank page._

_Someone I tolerated._

"Yeah, I do. I grew up around here as well."

"Ah, I didn't know that. Are you still in school, like Edward?" I don't like her fishing expedition. She's only been around for a year. And by next summer, she'll probably be replaced.

"No. I work as a writer. I've been out of school for some time and I honestly have no intention of returning," Bella answers.

"A writer? That must be so difficult. I can't imagine. Does it pay?" Beth asks with an expression of pity written all over her face, clutching her wine glass to her chest.

"Ummh, yeah. I can't complain. It could be worse." I can detect wry humor in Bella's eyes as she moves the glass to her lips.

"Bella is actually doing fairly well from what Edward tells me," Carlisle says with a humorous expression on his face.

"Oh, forgive me. I didn't mean to make assumptions!"

"It's fine." Bella shrugs her shoulders.

"So where are you starting your rotations? Let me know who your supervisor is and I'll see whether I know him." Carlisle is joining in on the question and answering session while cutting a flank steak. Liquids seep out; pools of red and clear juice form on the cutting board. I'm suddenly not hungry.

"Family medicine, up at a hospital in Connecticut. I'll have to look up whom I'm assigned to," I lie. I've known for a month.

"You don't sound too enthusiastic." He chuckles and shakes his head for the wrong reason. "Don't worry son, you'll get to surgery soon enough." If only he knew how off base he is.

"You want to become a surgeon?" Bella asks. I respond with a dismissive shake of my head that I'm sure Carlisle doesn't see. Maybe it's too dark to see my response in the faint light shining from the candles, or he deliberately ignores me. Not that it makes a difference.

"It's been a dream of his actually," Carlisle informs her, cutting his meat.

"I don't know about that…" I start, but don't finish. Instead, my hands are pressing into the wooden armrests of the garden chair. Something cracks, but the sound is low enough to disregard, like the white noise of the city.

"Oh, you're worried now. I was, too. But once you start, I swear you're going to love it." I chew on the inside of my cheek and shift in my seat. I'm too angry to care about the follow up question.

A fire engine passes by a couple of blocks away, too far away to overpower the conversation. Even a brief reprieve from would be welcome.

"You're a doctor as well? Sorry, Edward didn't tell me."

"Yes. Simply not practicing," Carlisle responds in an untenably clipped tone. It's nobody's fault and the question is innocent.

Bella smiles politely and leaves the subject alone. We eat our undercooked meat in uneasy silence. Eventually Beth starts talking about how fabulously my dad's three bars and two restaurants are doing, and the possible opening of another one. The word that stands out throughout her narration is "we." Before they started dating, she was a waitress at his restaurant. I'm not sure when they started becoming "we."

Carlisle interrupts her with condescending remarks, punctuated with lots of "honeys" and "darlings," telling her that nothing is set in stone yet about a possible expansion and that she shouldn't talk about things she doesn't know enough about. Beth looks at him like a child who's just been praised for a good grade instead of like a grown up who has just been cut down.

"We should probably get going," I announce the minute Bella puts down the spoon on her desert plate. She eyes me for a second, but then yawns and nods.

"Yeah, it's probably a good idea. I'm sorry, but I have to get up early tomorrow. It was lovely meeting you," she says as we head out the door.

"Are you heading uptown, son?" Carlisle asks, holding the door.

"No, I gave up the studio. I moved in with Bella. Forgot to tell you." Every time I talked to him lately, he carped about the fact that I'd decided to do nothing this summer. Work builds character, I better think ahead, strategize and agonize about possible choices.

"_You need to think about your career. It doesn't look good."_ I think I heard that line twenty times over the last two months.

"Since when? We need to talk about that." He steps forward with his hands folded over his chest.

"Sure. Later. Goodnight." I tow Bella by her hand down the steps into the street.

"Goodnight," she says.

"We're not done yet."

I ignore his remark. When we reach the corner, I feel her hand squeezing mine.

"Sorry, I didn't tell my dad I moved out. It's not because of you. I just wasn't in the mood for the speech." I squeeze her hand back.

"What speech?"

"The one where he tells me that I'm not thinking far enough ahead, that I should focus on school, should take another class, should intern for someone…god knows! It's usually followed by a brief story about his years in med school and how women are a distraction. How I need to make sure that I don't fall into that trap – the trap of getting married before your prime and having kids."

Bella is laughing. "Your prime? When would that be? So what's his deal? Why's he not practicing?"

"He was about to finish up his residency when I was born and about three weeks later, he had a car accident. He was picking up a grocery delivery from Hunts Point for my grandfather, who owned one restaurant at the time. Carlisle had always hated doing it … but I think his dad gave him a good guilt trip about breaking his back to pay for med school, so he did it. It was really early in the morning. A truck crashed into his van. His injuries were pretty severe and his hands got crushed. So that was it for performing surgeries. And he didn't want to switch fields. A year later, his dad died and he took over the business," I explain.

"Makes sense then."

"What?"

"That he wants you to follow his dream … it's sort of the ultimate for him I guess. So he's piling up the pressure on you. I mean, it's not like he had to experience the negatives of the job, the ones that come with years of actually practicing it."

"I don't know. I thought I wanted it…"

"But you're no longer sure?"

I suddenly feel trapped. The conversation has veered into swampy territory that I don't want to sink further into. "Can we not talk about it? It's not you. I'm just … rotations start next week and I have enough on my mind," I explain. My palms are sweaty and I wish I'd cancelled this dinner invite. "I'm really sorry about tonight. Sorry about Beth and her questions. I don't even know why she cares. I barely know her. They've only been dating for a year or so. Your dad was so easygoing in comparison. I'm sure he's also never hassled you about school or work."

She giggles. "Okay…not sure that's a good thing. Charlie barely graduated high school. He was in awe that I survived all four years of college. He didn't care what career I chose, as long as I had fun and was happy. But trust me, sometimes it would have been nice to be pushed a little harder. Having someone whose brain I could've picked about what do to career-wise would have been great, too. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad … but … oh well, it is what it is. I'm sure yours has qualities more redeeming than being condescending and dating woman half his age. Don't be mad at him. Things will work out."

I'd never wondered how old Elisabeth was, but now that Bella mentioned it, she was probably correct about her guess.

"As for Charlie being quiet and not asking many questions, he might ask more if you stick around. He usually waits for some sign of permanency before he shows a genuine interest. So that Q&A session might still be in store. Just not yet."

The tension I've felt all night in my shoulders disappears as I listen to her. I follow her into the house and grab her by the waist. The fabric of her dress is some thin t-shirt stuff and I feel her soft flesh through it, her muscles tensing when my fingers curl around her torso. I only want to think about her.

"I'm not worried about it. He can ask away."

I pull her closer and kiss her.

_Escape._

~000~

We spent the rest of the week mostly in bed, until Bella gets a call from her agent. He tells her about a job that would require a brief stint in LA. She accepts without consulting me and hangs up the phone. I'm mad as hell. I don't say so and resign myself to moping around the living room.

Eventually she joins me, sitting down next to me on the sofa and starts playing with my hand. I ignore her.

"Hey!" she says when I pull my hand away to scratch my stomach.

"What?" I ask in a detached voice that actually takes effort to maintain – even for a one-word question.

"Are you mad at me?"

I don't respond at first, furrow my eyebrows and then look away. "No."

She leaves me be. Around midnight she gets up to go to bed, yawning and stretching.

"Are you coming?" she asks from the door.

"Yeah …" I answer. I stay in the living room out of protest and must have fallen asleep there, because at some point during the night someone shaking my shoulder wakes me up.

"Edward."

I grunt in response and see Bella in front of me.

"Come on. Come up to bed with me."

I wander after her up the stairs half asleep, but by the time we reach the bedroom I'm wide-awake and pissed.

"Don't go to LA," I blurt out.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Is that why you were moping before?" She has an incredulous expression on her face. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Because… because I can't believe you just agreed to it without even talking to me about it. It's like it doesn't even matter if I don't want you to go." She looks at me wide eyed and I'm trying to prepare mentally for some rebuttal to whatever shit she'll say next.

"Okay." She nods. "Before I ever agree to any out of town jobs again, we'll discuss it. Can we go to bed now?"

I'm still not happy, but what else is there to argue about?

~000~

I'm scheduled to show up at the hospital in twenty-three hours. Bella's flight is scheduled to leave JFK for LAX in one hundred and sixty minutes. The taxi is waiting, but she's still here, in my arms. She's struggling to free herself, but I can't let go. Her naked skin is pressed against mine, warm and soft.

"I have to go." I hear indecision in her voice. Or maybe I wish it were there too badly.

"Don't take the job."

"I have too. I'll only be in LA for a month. And you have to work anyway. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"Impossible." Moving my hand to her breast, I feel her heartbeat quicken and her muscles tense. "Please."

"I'll come back for weekends or when you have a day off. And you can come visit me… it's such a short period. The rest I can finish up here … I have to."

"No. Please. Stay. You can't leave me." I shift my hand down over her stomach and rest it between her thighs.

"Edward, stop the drama. I'm not _leaving_ you," she whispers. She's trying to wiggle free, but I won't let her. "I'm only going on a job related trip. I have to go. I'll just miss my flight and have to wait around for the airport for the next one." I feel her hips push against my hand minutely.

I'm winning the battle, though not the war. She'll take a flight today.

"I love you. Don't go. Not now." I want her one last time at least.

"The taxi is waiting…ugh…no…stop…I don't have time."

"I'll be quick. I promise." I chuckle, hovering above her. Almost there.

"No." It's her last attempt; she'll capitulate any second.

"Yes. One minute. Please." I shove her legs apart with my knees. Close. "I'll be so quick, you'll barely notice."

No more arguing. I feel her.

"I love you," she murmurs and I sink down, deeper … nothing. Just skin. "Fuck … we forgot." She looks down. I know and I don't care. "We should …"

"Shhhhh."

I hold on to the one thing worth holding onto. It's over too quickly. I kept my promise.

I ride with her to the airport. We make out like two teenagers who've only ever kissed before. The entire ride through. Miraculously, there's no traffic on the Belt and suddenly we're there.

A rushed goodbye later, I take the train back home. Twenty-one hours. A month.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Many thx to my awesome betas Reamhar & KCerena. Kisvakondok pre-read – thank you. Special thanks also to spanklemaker9 for rec-ing my story on A Different Forest.  
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**Happy Valentine's Day!**

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**XI. Exhale**

The flight to LAX is delayed. The air conditioning in the terminal isn't working; the air is stale and humid. Sweat is dripping along my underarms. Drenched and dirty, I need a shower. Everything is suffocating me. I need to get out of the city before I change my mind. I'm not sure I'm making the right decision, but it's worth a try. I scan the crowd near the gate. There's no seat left unless I squeeze myself between a fat guy eating nachos with artificial cheese and a woman breastfeeding her baby, so I stand leaning against the wall across from the check-in counter.

I think about calling Jasper. I should call. But I can't. Physically I can't even make myself scroll to his number on my phone. What would I say? Pretend nothing happened? Yesterday Charlie gave me a guilt trip about how badly I'm treating my _friend_. Jasper complained to him that I'm not returning his calls.

I want to tell Jasper to stop hassling my dad. What's my dad got to do with it? I hate how he has intertwined himself into my life even further after that little chat we had. He even called Tanya and Kate, whining to them. I want to tell him to disappear. But that would require me to answer his calls, or worse, call him, neither of which is an option for me.

_My friend_… is he even still that? What kind of friend harbors feelings for his friend for years, feelings clearly beyond the bounds of friendship without ever coming clean? I can't shake the deeply unsettling and selfish sense of betrayal I feel. Selfish, because I'm sure Jasper is the one who got hurt in this scenario more than I did. _Fuck him_. I can't fully grasp why he never just laid it out there. Worse, I don't even believe him.

The thought of sleeping with him had occurred to me before at some point … though not recently. And not really because I found him irresistible and wanted him to be more than a friend. Temptation usually hit me during one of those lonely, drunk moments when I had nothing better to do. You know when you stare in the mirror and realize you want to feel desired … needed in some way? Sex always works miracles to satisfy that craving to feel sensual, wanted and physically attractive and sometimes I need that. Casual sex when I had an itch to scratch that was maybe what I had been contemplating with Jasper. But I had been terrified that I might damage something between us in the process, at the time. I valued the relationship we did have, even if on occasion – and particularly during the last six months – Jasper got on my nerves.

In the end, I never made a move…and, yeah, neither did he. Not even when puberty hit did anything transpire between us. No odd touches, no awkward first kisses to experiment … We didn't do stuff like that. Then college came and he paraded girls around, and later on, when we moved into an apartment together, the parade continued. He was always with someone. What kind of person does that when you are apparently in love with someone else and that person is right next to you?

Did I ever feel anything for him? Would I have fallen in love with him if we'd had sex at some point? Would I have felt differently if he'd professed his love for me when we were in college, when we were still without relationship baggage? I'm confused. I know it's too late now. It would also be so fucking terribly messy to figure out. Too late. I should stuff our whole friendship away in a drawer of bittersweet memories.

The sheer mass of memories I have of Jasper is daunting, though. I'd end up cramming the first twenty years of my life into a neat little shoebox to be hidden in the back of my closet just to get rid of him. I can't do that. If I tried to discard all the moments where Jasper was around and keep only those without him in it, there wouldn't be anything left, only a few choice moments with Charlie, Renee and some other friends. We met when we were three years old on the playground near our homes. Our mothers bonded and we were tossed together.

Part of me doesn't believe Jasper and his tale of undying love for me, a love he has supposedly carried around with him since he first laid eyes on me. What kind of bullshit story is he trying to sell me? This isn't Grimm's Fairy Tales – this is real life! And this whole thing only occurs to him when I finally find someone I'm happy with?

The more I think about it, the madder I get. I've ignored it for the past two weeks. Edward is more important. It's been good. For the first time, I feel like nothing is missing in my life. Being with him comes easily. Even the mundane daily grind is good. I don't care about the piles of his dirty laundry, the stacks of dirty dishes he deposits in the sink instead of the dishwasher and that he has lousy aim. All the stuff that has sent me up the walls with other guys doesn't bother me.

But something is weighing Edward down. I have a suspicion what it is. I think he wants to quit school, but for some reason is abnormally afraid to own up to it. No matter how often I prod him about it, he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't even want to admit that he's not looking forward to walking into a hospital tomorrow.

I see him and it eerily reminds me of myself about five years ago. It's natural to get lost in life … as long as you realize it is happening. Edward doesn't admit that something is wrong. And it is. Definitely. So he's lost without a chance to discover whatever he's looking for.

He thinks it's me, thinks that I'm his miracle solution to whatever else is wrong in his life. What he doesn't realize is that I'm a distraction. He loves me as much as he can…but as long as he hasn't really found his niche in life, his place where he's happy with himself, independently of who he's with, there's only so much love to go around.

His parents are blind and deaf to his obvious issues. They just pile on the pressure. Strict standards and high expectation of what he should or shouldn't do with his life. Well, I think Esme not so much … I think she knows something is up, but sees no need to confront him.

But disappointing Esme is not what Edward fears. No, the person he doesn't want to let down, the one he respects and who also makes him feel miserable is his father. While I can't stand they guy, he's only partially to blame for what's going on. He's only human and Edward needs to assert himself, figure out what he wants and inform his father of it.

A month on his own, maybe a minute or two to clear his head and focus on what exactly he's doing during those rotations might do him some good, I figure, which is why I left. I can't help him with it. I have my doubts of course. Maybe I should stick around for moral support…

I could have told my agent to negotiate for me to work from New York and only occasionally to fly to LA when necessary. I'll miss him and I don't want to be without him. But ultimately, it's better if he figures this out on his own … I hope.

~000~

"I love you," I say before I hang up. I'm tired. Only a week has passed. Edward sounds needier every time we speak and it breaks my heart a little. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe I should have stayed.

The phone rings again and I pick up without looking at the screen, thinking it's him.

"Bella … finally!" Jasper says. My stomach sinks and I feel like I have to run to the bathroom.

"What do you want?"

"Listen, I think we need to talk. Can I come over?"

"No."

"Why? Because he's there?" His words are making me feel skeevy, like I'm having an illicit affair with him.

"Are you stupid, Jas? I live with him. Of course he would be there! I'm actually in LA for work."

"I see," he says, and then stays silent for a while.

"Can we just get this over with? Say whatever you want to say, though I'm not sure what else there is to say and I'm kind of tired …so?" I start scratching of the nail polish of my fingernails absentmindedly. I have nothing to say. "Jas?"

"Why him?" he finally asks and I don't know how to respond. "Tell me! Are you seriously going to stay with that little—" Something suddenly snaps inside of me.

"Stop right there. I already said it and I'm not going to repeat myself. You and I, Jasper, do you hear me? You and I are not going to happen!" I yell into the phone. "We haven't happened in 25 fucking years and we surely are not going to become an item now. It would almost feel like … incest."

"Are you seriously—"

"Let me finish." I stop him. I'm on a roll. Nervousness has transformed itself to sheer anger. "We have been friends for a really long time and while I'd like to continue to be friends with you, I will not deal with your sappy declarations of love or your attempts to turn this into something it's not. Sell that shit to someone who is interested in buying. Go see a shrink, get drunk, fuck a girl … do whatever you have to do to get it out of your system. And, please, do us both a favor and stop calling my dad and my friends to complain. Also, leave Edward out of this. I deserve some respect and so far you've shown me none."

Silence follows my speech.

"If that's the way you feel, I guess we're done."

I'm waiting for him to hang up but he doesn't. Screw him.

"Excellent. Goodbye." I hang up. I'm fuming.

I storm to the mini fridge in my hotel room and pop open a small bottle of vodka. I try to calm my breathing, pull out a glass, pour the liquor in and down it. I want to go out and be distracted. I contemplate calling my agent to ask whether he knows of any parties.

I was supposed to go out to a movie screening tonight, but dear Rose ditched me the minute she figured out the movie wasn't exactly comedic material. Apparently, she can only stomach comedies these days. Maybe a thriller, but anything that alludes to real life drama sends her running for the hills. Go figure.

I'm not sure what's going on in her life, but she assured me we'd hang out tomorrow. She wants to go shopping.

I turn on the TV, pour myself another shot and start eating the candy bars out of the mini bar.

~000~

"Those make your ass look good. Buy them," I mention, as Rose inspects herself in the department store mirror in a tight pair of jeans. I've only spent twenty minutes with her and I already want to leave.

"I can't," she mumbles, turning around one more time to look at her behind.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"My life coach has told me I need to focus on the non-material things in my life, so I can't buy anything for a month."

"What? Fire that idiot. Seriously?"

Rose looks at me with pity in her eyes, as if she has reached some higher state of consciousness and feels sorry for my ignorance. Meanwhile, she's the one who suggested we go _shopping_. The irony obviously escapes her. I would have been perfectly amendable to a trip to the Getty…but no, shopping, it had to be.

"You're not serious? Why do you even need … a life coach, really?" I shake my head. Every time I talk to her, she sounds a bit loopier, and not in a good way.

"Bella, sometimes you're so … I don't know. I think _you_ would actually really benefit from a consultation, since your relationships all end so quickly. All you do is work. Is that how you want to lead your life? All alone?"

"First off, there's nothing wrong with not getting married, if that suits you – or just staying single period. So shut up. But for the record, I'm dating someone. We moved in together," I defend myself, despite the fact that I know it's hopeless and I don't even feel I should.

"So why are you in LA?"

"He's starting his rotations for medical school, I had some work to be done here…so?"

"There's something else. I can just tell by your posture and your complexion." She pauses to inspect me. I'm not going to tell her more. She'll move on to another topic in two seconds anyway. Back to Royce…the baby…Royce…love…puppies…bla, bla, bla…

"Are you still eating meat?" she asks after five minutes. "Brian, my life coach –"

"Stop. Right there. I still don't even know why you have one," I halt her before she can enlighten me with more of her crackpot wisdom.

"Royce hired him for me. He works with him too."

I see where this is coming from. "Does Royce currently have a spending cap too?"

"Bella, you have so much negative energy. I'm not sure I can bear to be around you anymore." She's angry now. I can feel it. She flips her hair back and tosses the discarded jeans on a pile of clothes in the dressing room, like the entitled brat that she is. I want to tell her it would be polite to fold the jeans and bring them back outside, but that would just incite her anger further.

I leave it be. We don't clear the air. Over lunch, I listen to her complain about her nanny and nod in false empathy. I settle the bill.

On the way back to the hotel, I get stuck in traffic on Santa Monica. I tap the steering wheel and listen to an annoying pop tune.

I think I've lost the second friend in a matter of weeks. I want to go home.

~000~

"How's work? Do you enjoy working with patients?" Talking to Edward is like pulling teeth. Nothing comes out easily.

"Hmmm."

"What?"

The stuff I ordered from the hotel menu is making me nauseous. I push the plate of food away, waiting for a response from Edward.

"I don't know. It's not bad. It's okay. It's not the patients."

"What it is then? The supervising doctors are pricks?"

"Well….no."

"You sound depressed. Can you please just talk to me? What's wrong?"

"Not over the phone. Come home, please." I hear a loud sigh on the other end of the line. It's the end of week number two in La La Land. Eleven o'clock at night, my time. Exactly five times this week I was tempted to pack my shit, get on the next flight to New York and run back to him. The meetings for my project are mostly over.

"I will. Soon. I promise."

"Is it me?" His voice sounds shaky.

"What?" I don't understand what he is asking.

"Why you're not coming home. You said the meetings were mostly done with." Whatever I thought I was doing by giving him some space is not working.

"Of course, it's not you. I'll come home. I have a couple more things I need to wrap up here and I'll be back. I promise. Have you spoken to your dad recently? Everything resolved?"

"I don't know. He's not happy we moved in together, but he'll get over it. Please come home. The house is fucking empty without you. I need you here…please."

"I have one more meeting. I will try to reschedule it. I'll be there as fast as I can. I'll call you tomorrow. You should get some sleep."

"Sure."

"Phone sex?" I try to lighten the mood and giggle. He doesn't respond. I guess it didn't work.

"I love you."

"Love you too. Good night," I whisper and hang up.

The next morning I call up my agent to figure out whether I can move the last meeting up and have it this week.

~000~

I'm sipping a martini with my agent at the Viceroy. The scene is tranquil, with rays of sunlight reflecting off the pool water and the smell of salt in the air. I lean back into my chair to enjoy my drink. The breeze from the Pacific calms me down. I like the ocean better in LA and miss it. My last meeting just ended an hour ago and the flight back to New York leaves in another five.

I told Edward this morning I'm coming home today, but that my flight hadn't been confirmed yet. He seemed relieved. When I called him to tell him which flight I was on, he texted me back and told me he was scheduled to work an extra shift. I'll give him another call when I'm at the airport.

Barely three weeks without him was all I could stomach. It makes me feel pathetic. I never liked the feeling of co-dependency though I'm coming to the conclusion that it's the natural result when you're in love with someone.

"Bella?" My Prada-clad agent, wiping his nose with his hand and tapping his foot without rhythm, pulls me out of my reverie. Santa Monica is too far away from his office for him and he's already fretting the drive back, I can tell. He wants to leave, but wants to talk to me.

"Yep," I answer, my eyes focusing in on the broken capillaries around his nose. His knee is bouncing now. "Just spit it out, Josh."

"Okay. You asked for it. I'm going to give it to you straight." Right, like he ever beats around the bush. "You need to stop spreading yourself to thin. If you don't, the quality of the type of work you get offered for will suffer. You worry that you won't stay relevant? Well, making yourself available for every shit project that comes along won't help." I raise my eyebrows at him questioningly. The last time I checked, he was the one who pushed me almost into every single project. "As your agent, and more importantly, as your friend, I'm telling you to take a creative break. You look too thin. Trust me, all this work is not becoming you. I think if you take a breather, I can up the asking price for you come January. That's of course if you lay low. And you'll have prime stuff to pick from, I swear."

"Gee, thanks Josh." He's either really looking to create a higher asking price or he hasn't gotten any good offers lately. Either way, he's not concerned about the size of my ass or my mental health. I blink at him and smile innocently as if I can't smell his line of bullshit. "It's fine. A break sounds fine to me." He's telling me sort of what I already know; I need a break before I burn myself out.

"Great. So we're good?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, we're good."

"Do you mind if I head back to my office now? Do you need a lift back to the hotel?"

"I checked out this morning. I only have to get myself to the airport in one piece. I should probably stop drinking."

"I have an idea. Order another drink. I'll send my assistant over to return your rental and you can get car service to the airport. How does that sound?"

"Perfect."

"Okay." He hugs me quickly and walks away briskly. I order another drink and some food. I finish the salad and the drink greedily. My mouth is dry and I swallow hard.

Before I know what hits me, I'm running into the direction of the restroom. I make it to the toilet just in time. This hasn't happened to me in years.

The feeling of nausea doesn't stay long. I get up and splash cold water in my face. Almost time to leave…

A cleaning lady in a white uniform walks past me.

"Are you okay, miss?" she asks me in a heavy Mexican accent. I smile and nod. She hands me a towel and a paper cup filled with water, eyeing me with concern.

I look at her reflection in the mirror. I can't say whether she's old or young. Her black hair without a trace of grey is twisted into a tight, low knot, and her skin is smooth and dark.

"How long?" she asks.

I turn to face her and blink at her, confused. "I'm sorry?" I say, swallowing. She looks me in the eyes first, before her gaze travels lower and rest somewhere on my stomach. I slant my eyes trying…

Without another word, I understand what she is asking.

She nods and leaves.

I get my luggage out of the rental car. My hands are shaking, but I feel calm.

I start rationalizing that it can't be. We were always careful. Maybe not always. But mostly. I made appointments to see my OBGYN to get on the pill, but had to work. I missed two appointments.

Why the hell don't they let you buy the pill over the counter?

Should I have gotten my period already? Am I late?

_Focus. Count._

I'm at the front entrance of the hotel getting into a car.

"Where to, miss?"

_But from what date? _

When did I have it last? I never remember. Every time my doctor asks, I guess.

"LAX."

Suddenly I know the exact date. I know because Edward got squeamish. I told him I didn't mind … so long as he didn't. He did though. And we didn't. Not for five days.

I felt a little dejected, hurt. Some blood. Usually just an inconvenience. Nothing that ever stopped a guy before.

I pull out my phone and calculate the days.

_Late. Not one, but two weeks._

Rose told me once, you know when you are. You just feel it.

I don't feel anything.

A CVS sign appears in the distance in front of us.

"Excuse me. Could we make a stop at the drugstore over there?"

Not likely, I argue. I get out the car and walk into the cool air of the store. Stuff like this doesn't happen to me. It just doesn't. I've experienced plenty of ripped condoms and missed pills – and nothing ever happened.

I find the isle. So many tests. Do these tests work? It's better than not knowing at all. Accu Clear…First Response. I don't know what to pick.

And how would _that_ woman even know?

I look at myself in the mirror near the pharmacy counter. I look the same. I grab my boobs. No different. Some old guy chuckles.

I take three different tests and head for the cash register. I buy some gum, a diet coke and a large bottle of water.

At the airport, I check my luggage and then head straight to the restroom. I rip open the first box and take the stick out of some foil wrapping. The directions are written on the damn stick. I toss the box. Positive results might appear quicker. Negative ones take longer.

What would be a "positive" result in my case?

Edward is turning 23 in two weeks.

I can't do this to him.

I'm taking a breather from work. No income. I can feel panic starting to rise and my heartbeat picks up in speed. I swallow and try to press it back down.

I pee on the stick, pop the cap back on, and put it down carefully on the small metal lit of the wastepaper container in the stall.

I pull out my phone and check for the time.

One minute passes.

Two.

Three.

I look at the pink line in the "control window."

And then at the pink line in the "test window."

I'm done kidding myself. The test says I'm pregnant. I put the stick back into the foil package it came in and toss it into the trash.

I turn my phone off and exhale.

I need to think.

The five and a half hour flight feels longer than usual. Panic comes and goes while I'm stuck. I take another test on the plane. I try to pee on it longer. Same result.

I start counting how much alcohol I've recently consumed. A couple of drinks definitely. Is that bad? Does that cause fetal alcohol syndrome? Not likely. Why am I even worrying about this?

Did I take any medication? Yes. An Ambien on my flight going here. Some aspirin, a Tylenol. Why do I care?

I want to take a long hot bath and sleep. Tomorrow. I can make a decision tomorrow.

As I wait for my luggage I turn the phone back on. It is tomorrow. A red-eye flight. Of course.

Two missed calls from Edward. I should call him back. I want to hear his voice, but I'm afraid of what he'll hear in mine.

I see my bag tumble out and move to go get it.

My phone rings. I don't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Isabella Swan?" a female voice asks.

"Speaking."

"According to our forms, you are the emergency contact for Edward Cullen. I'm calling from New York Presbyterian. His girlfriend?" My stomach sinks.

"Yes. Is he okay?" A new kind of panic starts to form.

"He appears to be fine now." Her voice sounds confident, assuring. "I'm sure he will be better once you come pick him up." I can hear a smile in her voice. "He fainted during his shift. He's up and recovering."

"Thank you." I sigh in relief and rub my forehead. My bag is still traveling around the belt. "I'm on my way. I'll be there as fast as I can."

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	12. Chapter 12

**KCerena and Reamhar beta'ed this. Thanks. Any remaining typos … shit that doesn't makes sense – all my own.**

**Kivakondok pre-read. I owe her. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**XII. Crash**

Day One/Week One

8:00 AM in front of New York Presbyterian Hospital

The concrete underneath my feet feels shaky – a logic impossibility – I know. I'm standing in front of the sliding glass doors of the entrance but far enough away so the sensor opening and closing the door doesn't detect me. I wait feeling lightheaded with clammy hands and twitching fingers.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Still no change. It feels as if there's no oxygen in the air. I try again.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Paresthesias, dysnea, and heart palpitations – I know the symptoms. I'm suffering a mild panic attack before I've even set foot in the building, at the mere thought of what awaits me inside…

_Think rationally._

Family medicine, working in a clinic, inspecting cases of minor sprains, rashes, colds, the occasional UTI, maybe an STD. Nothing dramatic. The family clinic is nowhere near to the ER, though the fucking administrators moved me down to the hospital in Washington Heights. Connecticut would have been better; their family clinic is in a pavilion, which is a safe distance away from the rest of the hospital. Still … there's little danger that I might witness any trauma. The nurses take blood.

_See? Nothing to be scared of._

Yet, I panic.

I close my eyes. Not real. Not yet. I can stop it.

Someone bumps into me. It's what I need. I wake up, enter the building and exhale.

I sign in. I take the elevator up to my floor. Generic surfaces of glass, stone, plastic and steel, but the smell gives it away – the smell of hospital. They say it's the disinfectants and cleaning supplies that create the odor and that it's a good sign, a sign that the place is clean and free of hospital-acquired infections. Underneath the clean, though, fester the remnants of human disease and decay. Excrements, fluids, gas. And there is the other layer of stench, the one that comes from maintaining the place, making it function. Artificial-smelling chemical solutions, powders, and pills used to rid the body of disease mixed with the aroma of processed food and perspiration. Pour them all in a shaker, mix them, and voila – you get the unmistakable stench of hospital.

As the day progresses, I get good at ignoring the right side of my brain. I'm in denial for the rest of the day. It all feels like a scene from _Dawn of the Dead_, except that I'm not in a shopping mall. I'm a zombie walking through the halls of a hospital, only half present and with only one thing on my mind – when can I get out of here. People should be running away from me screaming. If they knew of how little use I would be to them if push came to shove, they probably would.

If I can live like that, maybe I can handle it?

I see patients. I listen for and inspect symptoms. I analyze enough to come up with an answer. The supervising attending is satisfied.

I catch the subway home. Esme offered to let me stay at her apartment on Park to shorten my commute, but I declined.

I can't. I need to go home to the place that reminds me that I have another life. Another life with Bella.

She's gone but still close if I stay in the house we share. When I walk into the bathroom, I see her hairbrush with her hair still stuck in it, the shower gel she prefers, and her clothes scattered near the hamper. I need reminders that our thing is real. I look at the kitchen counter and remember when we christened it.

I walk past it and get something to eat out of the fridge. It's too quiet, though, in the house. I hate the stillness. Even when she works and is stuck in her office, there're more sounds, more life in here.

I can't sleep at night despite the fact that I feel physically exhausted. I roll around the sheets; sheets that still smell of her and me, mixed together.

~000~

Day Two/Week One

Bella's idiotic high-tech espresso maker won't work. I'm pissed. Why isn't she here?

I walk into the hospital without hesitation. Progress. Not getting better at it. Nope, I can't fool myself to that degree. I'm just dealing with it. But still, it's progress that I haven't felt the onset of another panic attack.

~000~

Day Five/Week One

Still dealing.

Until a patient is in pain. Serious pain. He should be transferred out of our clinic and into the ER. He's hunched over in the fetal position on the examining table. He's sweating, hands clenched into fists. In a sudden, jerky movement, he heaves his upper body to the edge of the table and throws up. I watch. The attending tries to talk to him but only gets grunting noises. The man is in his mid to late forties, dressed in work clothes splattered with paint and stained with dirt. Maybe he's younger?

He doesn't speak English. I speak Spanish fluently, but don't volunteer even though odds are the patient speaks Spanish. I hesitate. Should I say something? A minute passes, maybe more.

Before I make a decision, the nurse asks him in rudimentary Spanish whether he can point to the area where the pain is coming from. He responds, pointing to his stomach.

The attending instructs me to inspect the patient's abdomen. I reluctantly step forward and pull his shirt up. My fingers tentatively touch. He shrieks back. I think my hands might be too cold. I don't feel anything. I move my hand down farther. A bulge is sticking out in his groin; the abdominal wall can't contain it. Inguinal hernia, I identify correctly. The attending instructs me to push it. I stare at him and then back at the hernia. Seconds pass. Maybe a minute? He loses patience and takes over, pushing the protruding sac back with force. The man howls in pain.

I could have pointed out that with a hernia that size the patient would definitely need surgery. A painkiller might have also been nice. But I didn't.

I walk out of the room. My hands are starting to shake and my heart rate is increasing. I walk to the toilets and lock myself into a stall. I call Bella. She doesn't pick up. I listen to her voice mail message. I call three more times to listen to the same message. I calm down a little bit more each time I hear her voice. On my fourth call she picks up. I tell her that I miss her. She sounds too far away. I hear water splashing and music playing in the background.

Late at night, I fall asleep watching infomercials. A call from Bella wakes me. She offers to call back the next day, but I keep her on the phone. I won't be able to go back to sleep, now that I'm up, and I don't want to lose the opportunity to just hear her voice for a minute. I want her back. This stupid rotation would be easier to handle if she was here.

~000~

Week Two

I'm still getting up and dealing after the first week. Sleep continues to evade me. I've given up on going to bed. I stay on the sofa watching TV, listening to music … anything. I read. The smell in the bed is slowly fading and it's depressing me, so I don't crawl into it anymore. I worry that I'm the reason she left … something I said or did, and there's even less of a chance I'll fall asleep.

I call and beg her to come back, ask her "when?"

"Soon," she says.

Doubt starts settling in. Why is she still in LA? Why she hasn't come back for a weekend? When I ask, she says she'd just have to stay longer if she'd come for a day or two.

She wants to know about work. I can't talk about it. If I do I might not get off the sofa the next morning and return to work. Carlisle calls. I don't pick up. When I know he's not likely to pick up his phone, I call back and leave a message.

~000~

Week Three

I'm asked to do an examination of a skin rash on an old woman. I stare at the red welts on her leg. The translucent skin below looks swollen. I scan my brain for information, attempting to come up with an exact diagnosis. The patient shivers and sighs. I ask her whether it hurts and the old lady rolls her eyes at me. With gloved fingers I touch the skin, even though I don't really want to and I'm not sure what additional information I can gather that way. Before I can come up with anything, a pair of purple crocs appears next to me. I look up and see scrubs with kittens on them.

"Move over," the nurse orders.

"Excuse me?"

"Listen …" She reads my nametag. "Cullen?" I nod. "These," she says, pointing at the red blisters on swollen skin, "are shingles. Easy peasy. Don't sweat it. Next time you know. Now let me do my job."

I move out of the way.

Something hits me, an epiphany of sorts.

I can't do this.

Yes, next time I would undoubtedly know what shingles look like. But that's not the point, is it? No. My aversion to blood may only be a symptom of the underlying disease. I must have been suffering from delusions. No way in hell can I do this for the rest of my life. Look at disease. Treat it. Deal with it. I can't. More disturbingly, I don't want to.

I call Bella. She promises to come home. I need her. I need someone to talk to. The dismal feeling of total failure weighs down my epiphany. What have I been doing during the past years?

Two days pass.

I don't sleep. I don't even nap. I feel restless, like I should do something.

She calls. She's booking the next flight out of L.A.

I feel lighter. Floating. Or maybe I've reached the stage where I'm sleepwalking. I don't even flip when they ask me to stick around for an extra shift at night. I deal with it.

At the end of my shift, I walk out the hospital and smoke a cigarette to calm down. I never considered myself a smoker. I smoke maybe one or two cigarettes every once in a blue moon. Since I started working here, I smoke half a pack a day. It's an excuse to escape the smell that lingers inside.

An ambulance stops right next to me.

The doors are flung open.

Two medics jump out.

They see me standing there and yell. I take one step.

I smell it first, blood.

I see red – coming out of a man's mouth.

I break out in cold sweat.

Then black, not like a curtain, more like sudden darkness.

Then nothing.

Something is poked into my arm. Warmth spreads through my body. Nausea doesn't come. I feel good…better. I dream. Brown hair. Sunshine. Everything feels soft and warm.

Then nothing again.

When I wake up, sunlight is drifting through the window. I look down. My flaccid penis hangs in a plastic urinal. I have a hospital gown on, tied together in the back. My arm is attached to a drip. I feel too drowsy to panic. I search for a button to press, for someone to come and rescue me.

I pull the urinal away and cover myself. A nurse comes by, the nurse with kitten scrubs, only today the kittens are replaced by little yellow ducks.

"Enjoyed your slumber?" She chuckles, moving to stand next to my bed.

"Ha, ha … what happened?" My throat feels dry and itchy. I don't recognize my own voice.

"They brought in a gunshot victim and you fainted. Then you were convulsing. Your heart rate spiked, so they gave you a mild sedative. You've been stable for most of the night. Do you want me to take out the line?"

I nod. I stare out the window while she pulls the needle out of my arm. She hands me a cup of water.

"Did he…?" I hear myself ask.

"Yep. 16 bullets will do that." She checks my blood pressure. "They called your girlfriend. She's on her way. Let me get you some scrubs to wear."

"Where are my clothes?"

She laughs. "I'll give them to you. But you might wanna wash them."

"Toss them."

"You got it. Get some rest. Take some days off," she says, hands in the front pockets of her shirt.

I give her a half smile and fall back to sleep.

~000~

Fingertips are moving over my temples. It tickles, and feels like Bella

"Hey." I hear her voice, then feel her lips on my cheek.

It is her.

I wake up. Embarrassed, I sit upright and rub my hands over my face.

"Fuck," I mutter. "When did you get here?"

"Just now. I took a cab straight from the airport."

I stare at her. She has freckles on her nose and her hair looks a little redder. I feel disgusting. There is a bad taste in my mouth and the sheets smell.

But Bella smiles and then wraps her arms around me tightly. I don't care anymore. I pull her close to me, placing kisses on whatever areas of her I can reach. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. You scared the shit out of me, Edward." I hear her hiccup and her voice sounds strange. My fingers move to her face. Her cheeks are wet. I kiss her face. "What … happened?"

"I fainted."

"I know. Why? Is there something wrong with you?" More tears are streaming down her face. Her crying like that makes me feel like an asshole. All because I've been too scared to fess up that medical school and being a doctor (never mind a surgeon) is not something I can stomach. Maybe Carlisle is right. I lack backbone; he used to tell me that all the time. I avoid stuff and don't assert myself. But I'm done with this shit.

"No. Nothing's wrong with me." I kiss her on the neck and pull her closer. "I'm sorry I must smell gross," I mumble into her hair. "I'm fine actually… well, so long as I don't go near hospitals or other places where one could potentially encounter blood."

"What?" She pulls away and looks at me. I feel my skin heat up in shame.

"Umm … yeah … apparently I faint when I see blood … soooo…"

She starts laughing. "Noooo!"

I roll my eyes. "Funny, huh?"

She throws me a sheepish glance. "Sorry. But yeah." She nods. I start grinning despite myself. "So the time at the bar … the girl that cut her hand?"

I nod.

She hugs me. "It's fine. Are you allowed to check out?"

"Yeah. I think so." My eyes scan for the scrubs. "Hand those to me?"

She throws them in my face, still chuckling. "So are you going to quit school?"

"Yep. Not coming back here. Ever. So done with this." I pull the shirt on and then hesitate. I feel disgusting and the place is not helping. The sheets, the smell … everything – disgusting. What made me ever think medicine would be a good career choice for me? I pull the pants on underneath the sheets. She laughs some more. "I fucking hate this place."

"Really? Why?"

"Because it's disgusting … the smell … sick people every day ..."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I couldn't deal with it either." She shrugs her shoulders and smiles.

Bella orders car service to get us home. I pull her onto my lap the minute we sit down in the black Buick and hold her. We both stay quiet for a while.

"Are you scared?" she asks. I think about it for a second. As idiotic as it sounds, with her next to me, I think I'll be fine.

"No. Not really. I know Carlisle will probably have a meltdown…Esme…I don't know?" I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. Mostly I'm just relieved."

"How long have you known? I mean, about the blood thing."

"About a year and a half." I look out the window, feeling like a fool.

"Have you thought about seeing a shrink? Sometimes people can overcome phobias …" She's playing with my hair and I like it.

"No." I laugh. "I think there's more to it, too. I hated it … working there, even when I didn't see any blood. I don't think I've ever liked it. The theoretical part was okay. I actually liked it … but the rest? Honestly, I think I can live without it."

"Good." She has a satisfied look on her face. I give her a questioning glance. "It's good that you realized it. Gives you some room to breathe, I imagine."

"Yeah, it's good." I smirk.

It's simple now. I'm fine. I'll figure out what to do next and move on.

Bella falls asleep shortly after. I'm rested from the twelve hours of sleep I got thanks to the excellent pharmaceuticals they injected me with. I spend the ride home watching her. I like the sight of her asleep, wrapped in my arms.

When we get home we bathe together. Sitting in the bathtub with her, I start joking about the fact that for the first time in my life I need to find a _real_ job, one that actually pays. I fully expect Esme to stop funding my existence.

"Don't worry about it. I have enough money…I think … let's be bums together for a while." The idea sounds appealing, though my ego will likely get bruised if I let myself be supported by her for long.

"Wait. You're taking a break?" I ask, wishing she'd had that idea when I was doing nothing for most of the summer and had to beg her for every hour we spent together. Right now I actually feel energized. I want to start looking for a job, pay my share of the bills, and move on with my life. I figure I'll try anything as long as it doesn't involve hospitals, sickness, or blood.

"My agent suggested it, said I'm burning myself out … but I'm not sure. He might have other motives. He's right though, I know." She's lying on top of me with her head on my shoulder. It feels good. I don't want to think anymore. I haven't felt her like this – naked next to me – in too long a time. My fingers explore on their own volition.

I'm hard. Her thigh is resting against me. I pull her up, her legs straddling me. We kiss. I want her badly. But she's hesitant; it's not in her movements, but I feel it.

"Please, I missed you so badly." I touch myself and try to push her down. She relents with a heavy sigh. "No condoms…fuck…"

She moves away. My erection flops against my stomach. She starts rubbing me just the right way, better than I can, slithering, pressing her body against mine while her hands continue their ministrations.

I touch her, press against her, feel her skin slipping and sliding.

"Faster," she pants. My fingers speed up; I play her like she's playing me.

"Like this?"

"Mmmh."

"Good?" Her hands slide down. My hips thrust up. Once. Twice. I'm there.

"Close?" I circle her with my thumb. She stills and I think she's good.

"Yeah," she breathes and takes my index finger, moves it inside her. I feel her shudder.

"Okay?" I whisper and kiss her.

"Yes."

I carry her to bed afterward. She looks tired and skinny.

"How was LA? You look exhausted."

"Thank you very much," she answers sarcastically.

"Are you okay?" I'm worried about her. She works too much. And I'm not only of that opinion because I want to spend time with her, but because twelve hours a day locked in your room hammering out dialogue is just that – too much.

She pushes herself up to sit and looks down at me. A smile spreads across her face.

"Your job? You're worried about it?" I ask.

One of her shoulders moves up and she crinkles her nose. "Nah…whatever. I looked at my bank statements. I'm okay for a while." She kisses me and I stop thinking.

My biological urge takes over. Three weeks without her have taken its toll. I don't think I'll get enough of her in the foreseeable future.

We spend the rest of the day in bed. By seven o'clock she's dead asleep and I'm still awake.

Without wasting any thought on it, I get dressed and walk the couple of blocks over to Carlisle's house. I don't bother to think about the actual words with which I want to tell him I'm done with med school. This dawns on me, of course, when I ring the bell to the house.

To my surprise, it's him that's answering the door and not Beth.

"Hey, son. Didn't expect you to show up here tonight, but come on in." He takes his glasses off and opens the door wider.

I follow him into the living room. He walks straight over to a glass console stocked with liquor and pours himself bourbon from a heavy crystal decanter.

"Care for a drink?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks."

"So, was there anything specifically you wanted to discuss?" He looks at me with a broad smile, possibly envisioning himself talking about the rotations and how much I love the work.

"Yeah, I do." I sit down on the sofa and wait for him to take a seat.

"What is it?" he says, tossing some extra ice into his glass.

"Sit down, Dad. It won't take long." I want to get this over with, cross it off my list of things to do.

He chuckles and takes a seat across from me in an armchair. "I'm all ears." He smiles. I'm pretty certain that smile will be gone the second I'm done with what I will tell him next.

"I'm dropping out of med school," I say and stop. I expect him have something to say in response immediately, but he doesn't. The smile does disappear though and he narrows his eyes at me.

"Whose idea is this? Your girlfriend's?"

"Umm, no."

"She thinks you're spending too much time at the hospital, is that it?" I laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of his suggestion. "What?" He looks genuinely pissed now.

I lean forward with my elbows resting on my legs, trying to explain this to him, make sure he knows this is not some decision I made lightly.

"Dad, Bella has nothing to with my decision to quit school. To be frank, I can't handle it. I just don't have the stomach for it – literally." I shake my head thinking back on the fainting spells. He stares at me in disgust. "I completely black out when I see blood, okay? But that's not all. I just …" I stop and rub my eyes. "I'm not cut out for this and the thought of spending the rest of my life dealing with illness … just … it isn't for me." I look up expectantly, searching for some change in demeanor, but it's the same – determined and angry.

"So let me get this straight. You incidentally discover this … this inability or lack of desire to practice medicine right around the same time you started dating her, correct?"

"Dad—"

"You are making the biggest mistake of your life!" he yells, dropping the glass filled with liquid and ice on the table. "Are you crazy? All this for a girl?"

"Dad, it's not—" Not in my wildest imagination did I see his line of reasoning coming.

"Don't even tell me that it's not her." His voice is increasing in volume. "You've spent the last eight years interning in hospitals and you were fine with pathology…and now, now you want to drop out? Don't tell me it has nothing to do with her!"

"It doesn't. I've known for a while. I just didn't have the guts to admit it – even to myself. But I can't pretend any longer. Okay?" I say as calmly as I can muster.

He shakes his head and gets up. "You can't do this. I won't allow it."

"What exactly do you think I should do, Dad? Go ahead and faint for the next couple of years? They'll kick me out eventually. And if you don't believe me, call the hospital. They'll confirm that I just spent the night there, conked out on sleeping and anti-anxiety meds."

"They won't kick you out. Just … just pull yourself together, god damn it! And I want you stop seeing that … woman!"

I can deal with him trying to plead that I return to school and I expected the anger, his resentment of my choice, but he's starting to cross into territory that is not up for discussion.

I stare at him and he doesn't avert my gaze. "I love her and I'm not going to stop seeing her because you're blaming her for this. I'm quitting school. It's not an option for me to continue. There's nothing you can do about it. It's my life." My voice sounds like it doesn't belong to me, too cool and calculated. "I'm going to leave now."

I get up and start walking out the living room without looking at him again. I don't know whether I should feel angry or disappointed, but I don't have either of these feelings, really. In a certain way, I'm actually more relieved … like I've taken care of it – telling my dad. It's his turn now to come to terms with my decision and apologize to me for what he said in there.

When I get home, Bella is still asleep. I'm tempted to call Esme next, but one pissed off parent might be enough for one day. Bella's phone keeps on ringing while I watch TV and eventually I get up from the sofa to turn the annoying device off.

It's in her bag somewhere. I grab it and search through it. I don't find the phone right away and so I empty the contents of her shoulder bag on the kitchen table.

The phone keeps on ringing as I stare at the two boxes lying next to some lip balm, a water bottle and chewing gum. One box is unopened and the other one has a test strip missing. I turn her phone off, fish the information sheet about the home pregnancy test out of the opened box and start reading it.

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**Thank you for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**This story would suck without the careful eyes of my mega betas KCerena & Reamhar. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really appreciate all the work you put into my crappy tales. **

**Kisvakondok is a superior writer. Her stories are way better than mine. **

**I have one rec – I read rpgirl27's "Enchanté" not too long ago (can be found under my favorites) – and loved it. E with a penchant for opium and other sordid affairs. If you are remotely into historical fics – go check it out. **

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**XIII. LIFE**

When I wake up, Edward is no longer lying next to me, the sun is shining brightly through the windows, and birds are chirping outside.

The feeling of respite from sleep is gone fast. I don't stretch. Within a blink of an eye I'm fully alert. Panic sets in again. I glance at the alarm clock next to me to confirm my suspicion. It's 8:00 AM. I've slept straight through for thirteen hours.

_I should have told him. _

In the tub, when he noticed the lack of a condom and we reverted to manual gratification like two retarded teenagers, it almost slipped out.

Edward has finally figured out what to do about school and should be able to figure out what to do next without the added pressure of a kid on the way. I'm not even sure he'd want the kid anyway.

Never mind what he wants or can handle – I'm not certain what I want myself.

I'm in love, I got knocked up and I should just run with it, right? Except that there are so many variables and so many things to take into consideration that I can't figure out what to do. And it's not like I have all the time in the world to make a decision.

_Maybe by tomorrow … _

My stomach is growling. I find a t-shirt and some underwear and head downstairs.

Edward is standing in front of the stove, checking on three pans. Freshly squeezed orange juice is standing in a pitcher on the kitchen table.

"Good morning." I walk up behind him and eye one pan with bacon, one with French toast and another one with eggs curiously, wondering who all this food might be for. "Have you invited anyone for breakfast?"

He turns and kisses me on the nose. "Good morning." He hugs me. "No, only you. I missed you," he murmurs into my neck. The stubble on his chin tickles. I squirm.

"Be careful. Wouldn't want you to burn anything," I say and kiss his neck. He laughs but quickly returns his attention to the pans.

"What do you feel like having?"

"I'll have some eggs and bacon."

"I have home fries in the oven. Do you want?"

I nod.

I'm starving and start eating the minute he sets down the plate in front of me, feeling a wee bit like a pig. He pushes his plate next to mine and piles French toast on a serving dish in the middle of the table before settling on a chair next to me.

"So what's your plan for today?" I ask between bites. "Are you going to talk to your father and stuff?" I don't want to be pushy, but for his sake it's possibly better to get it over with.

"Nope. Done." He smiles and tries to feed me some French toast. I'm starting to feel full, but take the bite, too surprised to stop him. "You slept for a really long time. I went to his house last night."

"And? How did it go?" I'm shocked he's gotten this over with so quickly.

"Let's just say he's not a happy camper, but that was to be expected." He smirks and then rolls his eyes.

"What did he say?"

"He tried to convince me that I just needed to get over it and continue with school, but I told him that it wasn't going to happen. He's pissed. And that's an understatement."

"Shit," I murmur, cleaning my plate with some toast.

"He'll get over it," he says lightly and pulls me into this lap. His kisses feel so good, so soft and sweet and I don't ask anything further. I'm sure I'll get a replay of the conversation eventually.

We make out. Supple, wet, teasing kisses soon lead to firm touches, which quickly turns into something that would normally require a condom. My heart starts beating faster. I don't want to tell him to stop and he doesn't show any intention of stopping.

"Bedroom," he whispers and picks me up. He carries me with my legs wrapped around his hips upstairs and puts me down slowly on the bed before crawling over me.

I'm nervous. We did this yesterday all afternoon without me feeling so panicky, but something feels different. I feel Edward's lips on me peppering light kisses over my underwear and up my belly to my breast, pushing the t-shirt up in the process. I take it off and he pulls my underwear down.

"I missed you so much," he breathes on my neck and descends again with soft licks. He sucks on my nipples, nibbles the skin on my belly and nuzzles my belly button with his nose. His lips inch down farther. I feel him licking and touching.

Something about this takes me back to our first time, except it's different. Sex back then was instant gratification and this is delayed, slow motion pleasure. Edward has also gotten so much better at it. He knows what he's doing and his fingers and tongue work magic. My body tingles within a short time.

I push myself up on my elbows and watch him. His eyes are closed. One hand opens me gently, exposing the parts of me I always considered ugly. His fingers and his tongue are on me and in me. He sucks on my nub harder and I hold my breath, my hips flexing forward instinctively. Edward's eyes open and I think I can detect a lazy smile in them, like he's pleased with himself. I close my eyes, relax back into the sheets and let go.

When I open them, he's kneeling between my legs, looking down at me, still fully dressed. He notices me staring and takes his t-shirt off and shoves his jeans and his underwear down. Naked, he moves to lie next to me.

He reaches for a box of condoms from the nightstand. I feel ashamed. I should tell him it's possibly a superfluous precaution.

But I keep quiet.

I turn to my side and kiss him, feel his skin warm next to mine. He rips the wrapper with his teeth and then fiddles with trembling hands to roll the condom down. Without thinking, I take it out of his hands and pull it over him. He exhales and moves my leg up his hip, guiding himself into me.

"You can't do this again," he says, panting.

I rock against him.

"Not for such a long time. Okay?" I look into his eyes and understand what he means.

I nod. "I'm sorry. I won't. I promise."

We move slowly, holding on to each other.

Edwards phone interrupts our post-coital bliss. I feel him slipping out of me. He heads downstairs to get it.

"Who was that?" I ask when he gets back up to the bedroom.

"My mom. She got me an interview with a research institute through one of her friends. Tomorrow."

"You got a job interview already?"

He nods, grinning. "Yeah, it appears that way."

"Congratulations. So ... so ... your mom knows, too?"

Edward crawls back into bed, pulling me back into his arms.

"Yeah. I called her last night. I figured, better to get it over with. She was fine with it. Actually, she thought it was a good idea." He chuckles. "She says there is more money in research."

I laugh. "Well, at least she didn't flip."

"I'm supposed to meet her for lunch today. Wanna come?" I can't face his mom right now.

"Do you mind if I take a pass? I have some stuff I need to take care off."

"Sure. It's fine." I hear him sigh and feel him kiss my hair.

When he's out of the house, I take a quick shower. My mind is racing in a circle. I can't do this to him, I keep on thinking. He's 23. I was a disaster at 23.

If I'd gotten pregnant when I was 23, I would have known with certainty what to do next. I was flat broke, always one paycheck away from not having enough to cover the bills and having to move in with Charlie. But now I'm not sure I have it in me to have an abortion. I have a career and I'm in a relationship.

I wonder whether he could handle it, the responsibility, the stress, and the financial support that is required to raise a child. If he couldn't, would I be able to let him go and raise the child by myself?

Should I let him go without telling him? I can't. It has betrayal written all over it.

The ringing of my phone interrupts my thoughts.

"Hey," I answer quickly when I see it's Tanya.

"Hey girl! When did you get back?"

"Yesterday."

"Do you want to hang out for lunch?"

"Yeah, sure. Can I call you back in a minute?" I feel guilty for declining Edward's invite and my heart sinks a bit further.

I hang up and dial the number to my doctor. The receptionist is a sweetheart and tells me if I rush over now, she'll squeeze me in.

An hour and a half later, I slide into a chair across from Tanya after a brief hug.

"So how's life been treating you? How are things with the boy? Mine is currently annoying the shit out of me," she admits, tossing her phone into her purse.

"Fine. Why? What's he been doing to earn your wrath?" I ask, happy to divert the topic from me to her.

"Ugh. He fucking smokes pot every night, which is an improvement, really. Before he got a job, he got stoned before breakfast. I can't get the stench out of my apartment anymore. One of my neighbors has already commented about it."

I laugh. "Are you guys living together? I didn't know."

"Well, he kind of invited himself, which is fine I guess, but I had to sit him down after a week and tell him to get his ass in gear and get a job. So now he's working at a childcare center three times a week taking care of a bunch of three year olds. He's thinking about becoming a teacher, but hasn't even bothered to apply for a certificate yet. You're lucky. At least Edward has his shit together."

"He quit med school."

"What?" she says, dropping the menu to look at me with wide eyes.

"Hold that thought. Can we have two shots of grappa?" she yells to the waiter who laughingly nods.

"Wait. Not for me." I shake my head. "I have to work …"

Tanya frowns, but then cancels and orders a bottle of wine instead.

"So what happened? Tell me all about it. I totally didn't see that coming. Did you?"

"Well … kind of. I knew something was up, like he wasn't looking forward to starting his rotations. I don't know. At any rate, to make long story short, turns out he doesn't have the stomach for it. I mean he literally faints at the sight of blood."

She starts laughing loudly and I join her.

"Wait! So at my gallery opening …" Something dawns on her. I remember the night, the night when Edward slammed the car door in my face and cringe.

"Yeah, it appears that way. The girl cut her hand behind the bar, remember?"

"So … what's he going to do now?"

"He already has an interview lined up with a research institute tomorrow. I thought he'd relax for a while, but apparently he's all eager to work now."

"See." She points her finger at me. "I told you. He has his shit together. Emmett on the other hand…"

We order food and Tanya talks. It feels good to sit there and not have to say much. I take small sips of the wine and move the salad leaves around my plate.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asks, grabbing my hand suddenly.

"I've been so busy. And now I have some time off and Edward has finally figured his shit out…so… so I should be happy, right?" I can feel tears forming and then running down my face. I hate crying in public and wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.

"What's wrong?" Tanya moves to sit next to me, her arm resting around my shoulder.

"I'm pregnant," I mutter, before she pulls me into a tight embrace. For a while she doesn't say anything, but just rubs my back. When I pull back, she hands me a napkin and I blow my nose.

"Are you one hundred percent certain?"

"Well, the pregnancy tests I took were positive. I haven't had my period." I exhale loudly, feeling lighter. "I just went to the doctor. I'll get the results from the blood test tomorrow."

"You haven't told him?"

I shake my head. "I don't know what to do. I don't think it's fair to him. He's so young … and he's just starting to figure stuff out. Plus, honestly, what am I going to do with a kid? I don't …"

I hear her huff. "Honestly, don't worry about him. He's not an idiot and old enough to know better. He can deal with the consequences of having unprotected sex. But more importantly, what do you want to do?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"Listen, whatever decision you make, it will be fine." I'm not sure I agree with her on that. "Do you lean either way?"

"Part of me thinks I'm old enough, I'm in love … so …" I sigh and roll my eyes about my theatrics. Tanya just smiles.

"If you want to keep it, go for it," she says and hugs me.

"Thanks."

We stroll around the crowded, touristy streets of Soho when Tanya discovers a small store selling cutesy baby clothes and promptly drags me inside.

"Check this out!" She's holding up a pair of tiny Nikes. "So cute! You're going to have the cutest child with the nicest clothes, if you let me be the godmother."

"Sure. Of course." I look around the clothes and toys and it all feels strangely surreal. A year ago I would have checked out the little onesies and found them adorable. Now they scare me. "I don't know how I'm going to handle it," I admit more to myself than to her.

"What? Being a mother or the pregnancy part."

"Neither." I laugh. "I don't mean to sound like superficial bitch, but man … stretch marks, losing my body … breastfeeding…"

"Yeah." She chuckles. "I don't know … I can't really see myself doing it anytime soon. I don't know … Hire a trainer afterward?"

"I'm scared."

"You'll be fine," she assures me.

I'm not convinced, but I know I have to come clean about this to the one person who'll be most affected by my decision. Tanya leaves to go get some work done at her studio and I grab a cab to get home, thinking the entire ride home about how I'm going to break it to Edward.

When I walk up the stairs to the front door, I'm so nervous that my hands are shaking. It's not terribly late yet and since Esme usually likes to hear herself talk for hours, I don't expect Edward to be back yet. The door is unlocked though, and I hear sounds from the basement.

"Bella?" I hear Edward yell.

"Yeah?"

The stairs creak as he's running up. "Hey, I'm doing laundry." His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed and he looks so young when he leans down and kisses me briefly. "Do you want to get me the stuff from your suitcase?"

"Sure. Let me bring it down."

Collecting my dirty laundry in the bedroom, I notice a suit bag hanging on the closet door.

"How was lunch?" I ask, sitting on the dryer as Edward sorts through the clothes. "I see you got a suit. New?"

"Yeah …" His brows are furrowed deeply in concentration as if he's conducting a science project. He's holding a grey t-shirt in his hands, seemingly uncertain whether to toss it into the machine he's loaded up with whites. "Esme bought me a new one."

"Just toss it in," I say, shaking my head. Before Edward moved in with me, he used to drop off his clothes at the Laundromat to be washed and since then I've mostly done his laundry. "Why are you doing laundry?"

"Well, I didn't have anything to do …"

"Not that much!" I yell. He's about to pour a full cup of detergent into the washing machine. He looks at me like I'm nuts for a second. "It's a water-saving, energy efficient machine. If you use that much detergent, it gets screwed up."

"Oh."

After I've shown him how to put the right setting on the machine and helped him divide the rest of the clothes, we walk back upstairs.

"Sooo … I went to the grocery store … what are you in the mood for dinner?" I gaze around the kitchen, which is so clean you could eat off the floor. "Do you want anything to drink?"

I don't want to think about food and his newly discovered energy is kind of freaking me out. "I need to tell you something," I say, sitting down and staring at the kitchen table instead of him.

"Sure. Shoot."

I don't know how to say it, so I don't say anything for some time.

"Bella?" I look up and he smiles at me. "You wanted to tell me something … so?"

"Umm, yeah. You might want to sit down for this," I stall. He humors me and sits down across from me, slouching back in the chair.

"Okay, I'm sitting." I can detect some amusement at my general state of anxiety in his voice.

"I think I may be pregnant."

He chuckles. I cover my face with my hands. "Bella, look at me." I take a peak through my fingers. He's smiling, shaking his head. "You may? I think those test are pretty accurate these days, so let's just assume that you are."

"What?"

He's laughing now. "Don't be mad me. I didn't mean to snoop. Your phone kept on ringing last night. I turned it off. It was in your bag. I found the tests," he explains. I'm horrified suddenly about my bad behavior, about not telling him. And his response this morning and now is just really kind of sweet, which in turn makes me feel worse, like I'm a bad person, possibly not fit to raise a child.

"I'm sorry. I should have said something. I only found out on my way to the airport. Why didn't you say anything?"

He leans forward with his arms on the table, his hands reaching for mine with a serious expression on his face. "I'm going to be here for you, no matter what decision you make. I trust you. I know you would tell me when you were ready. I didn't want to rush you or confront you. I respect that ultimately it is your choice on whether you want to have a child with me." There's no hesitation or doubt in his voice. "Personally, I would be happy if you wanted to keep it. I think we can make this work. I love you and that's what counts, right?"

"Are you sure? You're … ugh … so young?" He shakes his head. "We can try and if you ever think you can't handle it, I'll understand … if you need to take a break … " I start rattling off.

"Listen." He stops me, squeezing my hands. "You don't need to offer me a way out. I know it might sound silly to you, but you are it. You've always been it. I'm never going to get tired of us. I don't need a break. I never thought about kids before and I'm sure there will be some scary times ahead, but I know I'll be fine as long as I have you." He sounds way more mature about it than I. I think about arguing with him, but I don't know what else to say. "We should go over our finances. I haven't spent everything Esme gave me over the years to cover my expenses, so I have some money saved up. I don't know what my salary will be, but I think it should work."

"Okay," I say.

"Okay," he says, kissing my hands.

And just like that we're fine. Better than fine actually.

~000~

That same night, Edward tosses the condoms in the garbage with some satisfaction and insists, despite his speech about the accuracy of pregnancy tests, that I pee on another stick. I'm getting irritated when he doesn't want to leave the bathroom and end up having to shove him out. The test turns out positive – again.

The doctor confirms it the next day as well. I am indeed with child.

After a round of three interviews, which make him more nervous than the fact that he's going to be a father in the very near future, he gets the job with a private research institute. He's also in the process of applying to a Ph.D. program in biochemistry. We celebrate by not leaving the house for two days.

Edward keeps up his cooking and cleaning routine, and generally hovers a lot. I try my best to dissuade him by emphasizing that I'm pregnant, not sick, and hence perfectly capable of doing things, like cooking, taking out the garbage and doing the laundry. Tanya tells me to enjoy it while it lasts and so eventually I do.

In October, Josh calls and forwards me a book they want me to write a script for. I don't care for the story and for the first time in my career, I decline an offer. Since Edward is out of the house from the morning until late afternoon, I start working on an original script. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to sell it, but I enjoy writing it.

The first three months fly by in a breeze, the summer heat gives way to chillier temperatures and Thanksgiving is around the corner fast. We invite Charlie and Esme over to our house with the plan of telling them about the baby. I'm a little concerned how Charlie will take it. After all, having me pretty much killed his marriage.

I extend an invitation to Carlisle and Alice as well without telling Edward. He still doesn't talk to his father and hardly ever to Alice. Edward gets irritated with me when I tell him about it afterward.

"Dude, we might need a reliable babysitter one day," I argue after he tells me I shouldn't have bothered.

"Do you seriously think I would entrust our child to Alice?"

"She's your sister, idiot. You'd really have more confidence in some stranger you'll have to pay?"

"You don't know Alice. She'll get a work related call and will dip the next second. There's a reason why we weren't allowed to have another pet after our rabbit died," Edward informs with a completely serious expression on his face.

"Oh, what happened to the poor bunny?" This is the first I hear about a pet.

"It's not funny. She left if in the car after a weekend at dad's house. It was August. The thing died of heat exhaustion."

"Shut up," I say laughing. Edward doesn't find it funny.

Edward tells me about his father's accusations after he told him he was quitting school and that he doesn't want to see his father until he apologizes. I tell him I don't care and his dad is entitled to his own opinion. Edward doesn't agree with me and I let it go.

Carlisle never shows up on Thanksgiving. Alice does, with a cute blond guy in tow. She's super friendly, almost too friendly and after a couple of martinis and some wine, she starts making out with her guest on the living room sofa. I find it mildly entertaining, but I can tell by Edward's grim expression and his stiff posture that he's getting annoyed. He keeps on shooting her angry glares. I point out to him that her eyes are closed while she's playing tonsil hockey with her boy and send him off to get Charlie another beer. After a whole twenty minutes of family togetherness, the affair has awkward written all over it. Taking a tiny sip from a glass of red wine, I wish desperately that I could join Alice in her mission to get completely wasted. I want to at least finish the glass, but Edward will likely grab it out of my hands.

I'm not used to attending family affairs period since it's usually just Charlie and me and some of his buddies, and I'm even less used to attending them sober.

"Alice, don't you think you've had enough?" I hear Edward hiss when his sister is asking for a refill of her wine glass. I intervene and fill up the glass for her, like a good hostess.

By the time we pull the bird out of the oven, she's definitely drunk. Charlie is his usual quiet self and I can tell he would have rather spent the holiday at his buddy's house where he would have been allowed to watch TV the entire afternoon. Esme doesn't seem to mind Alice's boozing ways and talks enough to make up for the uncomfortable silences and to drown out her daughter's occasional slurred comments.

"So, Bella and I have something that we wanted to share with you," Edward starts to my chagrin when everybody seems to have stopped eating. "Bella is expecting our first child." He grins like an idiot while I turn red. For a couple of seconds nobody says anything.

"Cheers to that," Charlie says, raising his wine glass. "Congratulations."

"Oh, honey." Esme looks like she's about to cry.

"I thought your boobs looked bigger … but I figured implants. I don't see a bump or anything." Alice stares at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"First trimester. Not much to see," I answer, laughing before Edward can say something rude.

Esme wants to know whether we know the sex already. She wants to decorate the nursery.

"We have an appointment for an ultrasound next week. We should know then," Edward informs her.

"We?" I shoot him an exasperated glance.

"Yes," he simply answers and rubs my back.

The rest of the conversation revolves around baby clothes, baby names…you name it. I tune out halfway through.

~000~

"Shit," I whisper, standing in my underwear in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

"Merry Christmas," Edward says, hugging me.

"Look at this." I say pointing at my belly. "Horrible. I look like a whale."

"You look beautiful."

"Shut up."

Edward's hovering is slowly but surely getting on my nerves. He signed us up for not one but two different prenatal classes. I hate everybody in these classes. The mothers all talk baby 24/7 and some of the fathers are as bad. Meanwhile all I can think of is that I'm dying for a stiff drink and a joint. Edward won't even let me have more than half a glass of wine.

I wanted to go away for the holidays, somewhere warm, but Edward nixed that idea. He says he wants to save up all his vacation time for when the baby arrives. So now I'm stuck with Esme, Charlie, and Alice hanging around the house and playing hostess.

"You shouldn't wear those heels," Edward says when I'm ready to head downstairs for the Christmas dinner we're hosting.

"Why?"

"It's not good for you're back. Wear flats."

"Oh, screw it," I say. Despite the fact that my feet are already killing me, I keep them on.

I survive the rest of the night by not moving much. Esme thankfully serves me a cup of spiked eggnog and for the first time in over four months I feel pleasantly buzzed. Not even my feet are bothering me by the end of the night.

"Let me know if my son is starting to stress you out. I can call in a favor with his boss and get him send away for a couple of months," Esme says with a wink. "I know he can be overbearing."

"Mmmh. I might have to take you up on that." I'm not serious though. I'd possibly even miss him.

When I'm not spending the night at some silly class doing breathing exercises that seem pointless, I'm attending prenatal yoga – Edward's idea, not mine. I have over four more months to go and I'm already so over it. My breasts feel sore, my back hurts, my nipples feel dry, my feet are swollen and I've gained 15 fucking pounds. I've had it.

Edward seems to be miraculously turned on by the whole extra pregnancy pounds, so the sex life is still good, which is awesome because it's the only physical activity I actually enjoy these days.

~000~

For New Year's Eve, Edward surprises me and takes me on a mini three-day trip to Miami. It's not the Caribbean island trip I'd envisioned, but at least it's warm and he picked a nice hotel.

We have dinner in a pricey restaurant and take a walk along the beach until it's almost midnight. To my surprise, Edward pops open a bottle of champagne promptly when the clock strikes twelve.

"So, I had this whole plan for tonight," he starts after we toast on the balcony of our hotel room.

"Uhuh." I'm happy sipping my allowance of a half a glass of champagne, sitting on his lap and wearing flip-flops.

"But then I thought it wouldn't be your thing, so I didn't bother."

"Mmmh." I only listen to him half-heartedly. I hear the sounds of the ocean and laughter coming from the pool area.

"Bella?"

"Yeah."

"Let's get married."

Before I can start laughing, his lips are covering mine, and his hands are unzipping my dress.

"Please?" He's sucking on the skin behind my ear. "Think about it." I feel his fingers slipping into my underwear. "We can wait until after Emma is born."

"I hate that name," I murmur. "No way." His fingers are inside of me.

"Shhh." He lifts me up to stand and moves us inside to the bed. My dress falls to the floor. I hear him unzip his pants and toss his shirt aside.

He's behind me on the bed, moving inside of me. "You don't have to take my last name … mmm …" He picks up my leg, and I can feel him slip in deeper. "Though it would be nice." He bites the skin on my neck.

I sigh.

"More?" I feel his fingers on me, rubbing circles.

"Please," I whimper.

"Good?" His touch is too light.

"More." The tip of is finger is on the right spot and it feels so good. Then he stops. I try to reach down myself but he holds me back by my wrists.

"Marry me."

"Please."

"Answer me." His rhythm speeds up, but his fingers don't feel right and it's not enough.

"Ugh…please…"

"Tell me."

"Yes …" I don't care. Suddenly, his hands are where they need to be, pushing and stroking. It feels so good and right then it's all I care about.

~000~

"That wasn't nice," I say when I lie next to him and he's nearly dozing off.

"Mmmh, I have no idea what you're talking about." I smack him with my hand flat on his stomach. He howls in pain. "What was that for?"

"Right, you have no idea." I mock him, rolling my eyes. "And where's my ring?"

He starts laughing, gets up and comes back later with a small red box with golden swirls around the edges.

"So what was your original plan?"

"Oh, I was either going to have the restaurant staff put it into a desert, go down on one knee…but I figured you'd laugh and say no right away."

"Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Yes, I do. I love you. It feels right."

"Fine." I shrug and open up the box. "Cartier, huh? I hope the money for this didn't come out of our unborn child's college savings fund."

He starts laughing.

"No. As a matter of fact it didn't cost me anything. It's a gift from Esme – a leftover from her last divorce. I'll get you another one once I can save up some money. These silly rings are expensive."

"Na-uh, the guy has good taste. I'm keeping this one." Edward takes the ring out of the box and pushes it down my finger. It fits. "But not before the child is born – whatever her name might be – and I've lost the pregnancy pounds."

~000~

The next four months pass at snail tempo; it feels like time is standing still while I'm getting more and more uncomfortable. While most of the other mothers from our classes seem to be practically glowing during the last months of their pregnancy, the opposite happens to me. I look paler than usual and my hair has lost its shine.

I barely experienced morning sickness or any kind of nausea during the first six months, but during the last three months, I can barely keep food down long enough to digest it. As a result I have no energy to do anything, move around or even to write. Edward tries to help as best as he can, but it's Esme who helps me the most by sending her maid over every day and distracting me with small talk and by watching old movies with me. Kate and Tanya try to cheer me up, but their faces have pity written all over them.

Moving around is exhausting and I stop going to the yoga classes. I'm always tired. Walking up and down the stairs in our house becomes a chore. I'm too tired for sex, too. One night I catch Edward jerking off in the shower. He doesn't notice that I entered the bathroom and I close the door quickly, silently. I don't confront him about it and I can't blame him, but it also doesn't make me feel fantastic about myself. I feel bloated and utterly unattractive.

During the last two weeks before my due date, my back is killing me and crawling out of bed becomes a challenge. Edward takes me for a checkup, but the doctor can't seem to find anything wrong with me or the baby. He doesn't believe my regular doctor and takes me immediately to another one that same day. His irritation reaches an all time high when that guy also doesn't detect anything abnormal or unusual.

He's about to take me to third one the next morning, when Esme stops him. She orders her massage therapist over to my house. The guy does work miracles with his fingers and I feel better, if only for a short period.

Almost a week before my tentative due date, my water breaks, conveniently while I'm standing in the shower. Contractions start before I get fully dressed, a dull pain shooting down my lower back. I get dressed and call Edward. He tells me to relax and try to sleep until he gets home.

"Are you high? Do you know how much pain I'm in?" I yell into the phone.

"Okay, Bella, please try to calm down. How far apart are the contractions?" he asks.

"I already had two and my water broke maybe 30 minutes ago. You do the math." I feel like crying.

"Are you sure there are real contractions?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It's not that I have done this before. It sure hurts like the real deal."

"I'm taking a cab right now. I'll be there soon." He hangs up.

I call Esme who is supposed to arrive any minute now to have lunch with me.

"Honey, how are you?" she answers the phone.

"Not well. My water broke. I want to die." I know I sound like a drama queen, but if anybody understands, it's her.

"Hold tight. I'm there in two minutes."

When she opens the door and sees me bend over in pain, she hurries me outside. We drive to the hospital immediately.

Esme gets into a screaming match with a nurse who wants to send me back home. The doctor is flabbergasted that my contractions keep on coming at short intervals when my cervix is barely dilated. They push and prod and I'm in too much pain to argue or protest.

By the time Edward gets to the hospital, it feels like my lower back is breaking apart. Since I'm not dilated enough, they refuse to give me an epidural. I clutch Edward's hand and tell him he can wait outside, considering his aversion to blood – and judging by the pain I'm feeling I'm certain there will be blood. But he stubbornly sticks to his resolution he made eight months ago and stays in the room.

Another contraction starts. I'm in so much pain that I seriously doubt whether I made the right decision about keeping this child. I scream.

"Calm down. Breathe, Bella, breathe," I hear Edward say.

I'm about to snap at him, tell him that breathing is not helping, and that those Lamaze classes were a waste of my time, but then the pain fades and my body feels weightless. His voice slowly drowns out and is replaced by a pleasant silence.

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**I know what a cliffy, right? I will hopefully update tonight - unless FFnet further deteriorates. Last & final chapter. Thank you very much for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you – first of all – to my betas – Kcerena & Reamhar. Many thanks also to Kisvakondok – who took the time out to pre-read most of this story. **

**I had to work late last night and therefore did not update. I apologize. **

**Another big thank you to the ladies over at the perv pack smut shack for rec'ing my story. I feel very, very flattered and honored that you mentioned this tale. **

**I know I got some mixed reviews about B having the occasional drop of liquor while pregnant. For me it was part of the character – a girl who is not necessarily ready for a child (despite her age), nor embraces motherhood completely. I have also done some asking around and there are in fact several OBGYNs who believe it's perfectly acceptable for a pregnant woman to have a glass of wine on occasion (as long as she follows the cardinal life rule – everything in moderation). Of course, nobody recommends binge drinking. **

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**IV. SPRING**

_April 2012_

"Do you ever regret it?" My eyes are closed. The sun is warming my face and arms.

"No. Not really. Only once," I answer without elaborating, leaning back into the park bench. Thinking back on that time makes my heart contract.

"When?" Emmett asks, elbowing me in the side. I open my eyes. The sunshine is yellow-white and too bright. I squint.

"When they pushed Bella into the OR. I felt so fucking useless … and I kept on thinking, I should have been more insistent when I took her for her check-ups, I should have looked closer at the ultrasounds … I don't know … like I should have done something."

"But you know there's probably nothing you could have done anyway, right?"

"Yeah, I know there's nothing I could have done." I roll my eyes. "That's why I say, I'm not regretting it. I would have been a lousy doctor."

"Mmmh, yeah… maybe I need to think about other career options," he mutters, scratching his belly. Emmett started working as a teacher six months ago and already hates it.

I hear a gurgling sound coming from the stroller next to me and look over, checking up on Molly. "Hey," I whisper and pick her up out of her stroller. I hold her close to me, rubbing her back and she burps.

"Any other regrets?" Emmett says laughing.

"Nope. I'm good," I answer him with a smile.

"I can't wait until she can walk. I'm going to teach her how to play soccer," he coos, petting her cheek. I can tell he likes kids by the way he's always fawning over Molly; it's just that teaching might not be his thing.

"Right. About the teaching thing … I don't know, Emmett, maybe give it another six months before you throw in the towel?"

"Yeah, you're right. Summer break is just two months away and I should stick it out for another semester after that." I get up to put Molly back into her stroller. The April sun is only warm for a little while and I want to get her home before the sun disappears again and the temperature cools. "Hey, do you think Tanya will take me back if I stick it out?"

I chuckle. Tanya kicked his ass to the curb three months ago because she got tired of his perpetual pot smoking. She might have also mentioned something about how he didn't offer to contribute to her rent. "I don't know, Emmett."

"I miss her, you know?"

"You miss her or her apartment in the city?" I say as we walk out of the park. He's now living on the last stop of the F line and complains about his commute almost every day.

"Both. But mostly just her." I glance at him and he looks like he means it.

"I don't know what to tell you," I say laughing. Tanya had some pretty loud discussions with Bella after she kicked him out of her apartment and judging from what I overheard, it would take a lot more than a permanent job for her to take him back. I don't say that though. No need to kick him while he's down. "Do you love her?"

"Yeah, of course I do." He shrugs his shoulders and gives me a sad grin.

"Beg and plead … woo her, send her flowers, chocolates and candy … I don't know. Try something." I try to be positive and give him suggestions, even if they might not get him anywhere.

"Do you think she'd fall for that?"

"I don't know, but it might beat doing nothing and complaining to me about it."

"You're lucky, man," he says patting me on the shoulder, when we reach my house. "Girl of your dreams and a cute kid."

"I remember you telling me not too long ago that that sounded horribly boring."

"Yep, well I can admit when I'm wrong, bro."

"Do you want to come in?"

"No, I think I'm going to head home. Tell Bella I said hi!" He waves his hand at Molly and me and leaves. I push the stroller into the basement entrance and walk up the stairs. The first floor is empty and the house is quiet.

I walk up to the second floor and hear the faint noise of someone typing. I knock on the door softly, before I push it open.

"Hey." Bella turns around, away from her computer and gets up. I kiss her and she reaches for Molly. "Did you guys have fun in the park?"

"Yeah, the weather was nice. Did you get enough stuff done?" I stand behind her and hold her as she cuddles our daughter.

"Yeah, I can finish the rest up tomorrow. Let's make dinner," she says walking ahead of me.

"So what's Emmett been up to? You know you could have invited him for dinner?" Bella asks, setting water to boil for pasta.

I pour some wine into two glasses and join her standing next to the stove.

"I did. But he didn't feel like it."

"Does he still want to quit teaching?"

"Yeah, I told him to give it another six months."

"Why? He hates it, right?" she asks me, laughing.

"Yep. One of the kids kicked him in the crotch last week and he was about to walk out. Honestly, I don't know what to tell him. He asked me whether I regretted quitting med school."

"And?"

"You know I don't." I glance at her from the side. Almost a year has passed, but on some days she still looks really tired. Giving birth to Molly nearly killed her and it took a while until she recovered. None of the doctors had noticed that she had a heart condition that was being aggravated by the pregnancy. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost her that day. "Only that one time …" I continue.

She furrows her eyebrows. I never told her how scared shitless and helpless I felt when she lost consciousness during labor.

"You know… when they rolled you into the OR."

"But you wouldn't have been able to do anything. The nurse told me you only looked at my face while they performed the c-section. You couldn't even cut the umbilical chord."

"Yeah, but it was the only time I wished I could do it … you know… if only just to help you," I say staring at her. She bats her lashes and smiles at me. "But you're right. I don't have any regrets. I have what's most important … to me anyway."

I pull her into my arms and hold her, thinking how fortunate I am.

**The End**

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**Thank you so much for reading and taking this ride with me. **

**I'm a contributing author to the Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness. If you want an outtake or future take of this story, let me know. I'd be happy to write it.**


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